#it's fine I got some writing done so I can be funny about my existential crises now

[essektheylyss]

I have nothing but hatred in my heart for the sitcom Friends but unfortunately, the theme song was right. no one did tell me life was gonna be this way. [rapid existential clap]

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.��� You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

[nevermindirah]

part 3, "Kid": How every character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood relates to the main character, Nile Freeman

Stop writing people calling Nile "kid" 2k4ever

Andy calls Nile a baby one time, minutes after first dreaming of her. Andy then calls Nile "kid" three times, all to her face, all in the first few hours of their acquaintance. Booker calls Nile "kid" once, on the porch outside the bar. That's it. The context for these lines is super interesting, and calling Nile "kid" in fic doesn’t make any sense without the original context.

When Andy, Joe, Nicky, and Booker wake up from first dreaming of Nile, Joe and Nicky immediately start sharing facts they noticed, and Joe starts sketching. Booker is in his feelings but he contributes a few things to the saying-facts-out-loud rally.

Andy is 100% in her feelings. She starts the conversation with "No, not another one." Then once the boys have gathered a bunch of facts and Booker says "I felt her die" Andy comes in with this:

Andy: [stares at nothing straight ahead, voice is remote, detached.] She’s a Marine. [Joe and Nicky look up together.] Combat. Or near combat duty. Afghanistan. [Shakes her head slowly, wearily.] It’s been over two hundred years. [Whispers, anguished, buries head in hands.] Why now?

Got it. Joe and Nicky are the competent soldiers, Booker is the semi-competent drunk, Andy is the boss. Andy is the fucking depressed boss. It's in this context that Andy, having analyzed the information her direct reports just gave her, made the determination that Nile is a Marine in Afghanistan, and let her team have a brief back-and-forth about whether to change their plan to go retrieve the new one before announcing the decision that is ultimately hers to make, refers to Nile as a baby.

Andy: Get to France. Use the Charlie safe house. I’ll meet you there. [Joe examines his sketch, blows pencil-dust off it. She stares at Booker.] Find Copley. [Joe tears out the page and hands her the sketch. Andy stares at it.] Jesus. She’s just a baby.

Andy's metric fuckton of I AM BEYOND DONE just leaps off the page/screen. Keep that existential exhaustion in mind as we see her early interactions with Nile.

Nile: [stands, panting, regards Andy suspiciously.] Who are you? Andy: I lead a group of immortals. An army, I guess. Soldiers. Fighters like you. [softer tone.] Look... [Andy steps toward her; Nile steps back.] You’ve got questions, kid. I get it. [tiny smile, small nod.] You want answers? Get back in the car.

Andy: [lightly] And I was the one who cut your throat. Right? [stares at Nile, who stares back, then looks away; she has no answer for that.] Listen, kid. You already believe in... [points upward, follows it with her eyes.] You should just keep following that illogic. [Pulls her jacket over her shoulders as a blanket, turns on her right side, back to Nile, lies on the pile of duffel-bags like a reclining chair.] You’re already on board with the supernatural. [Speaks with eyes already closed; it makes no difference to her.] If I were you, I’d get some sleep.

[Nile stands slowly, glaring at Andy, sets her body as she prepares to continue the fight.] Andy: You really want to do this, kid? [Andy’s eyes are bright, her expression relaxed but anticipating; she looks like she thinks this will be fun.]

Andy is looking at this retrieval mission as something that must be done, but quickly and with as little disruption as possible to her team's ongoing mission to find Copley and protect themselves from exposure. And then here comes Nile Freeman, competent as hell, taking no shit, questioning everything, stabbing her and escaping a moving vehicle and just fucking fighting her at every turn.

"Jfc kid will you just get in the goddamn car" feels pretty reasonable in that context, yeah? At least from Andy's perspective. From Nile's, you're fucking right you're gonna ask some goddamn questions before getting on a drug-smuggling plane with someone who just shot you in the head.

It's worth noting that Andy doesn't precisely say "jfc kid will you just get in the goddamn car" — she says "I need you to get back in the car please." She says "can you please not do that again" when Nile fucking stabs her. She's exhausted and frustrated and just trying to get through this and back to her main mission, and from what we see of her so far she's generally gruff as a person, but she's not an asshole, and she’s really showing Nile some respect here, all things considered. I mean, imagine being this polite when someone stabs you. This is a tired adult trying to get another tired adult on board with a sensible plan.

Andy: Argh! [Andy grabs Nile’s knife hand.] Fuck! [throws it violently aside, forcing Nile back a step. With the knife still in her, Andy sighs deeply and looks at Nile. Nile recovers her balance and stares that Andy is hardly reacting to having a knife in her.] Can you please [grabs the knife with left hand, yanks it out] not do that again? [throws the knife on the ground.]

Once they fight on the plane, Andy never calls her kid again. Andy is already starting to regain some of the energy her long life has worn away from her after just 10 minutes on screen with Nile. Andy went into this retrieval determined to be someone Nile can rely on, and that still stands, but by the time they’re in France she’s realizing she’ll come to be able to rely on Nile too. She introduces her to the boys as Nile and that's that.

The only other time we hear the word "kid" in the entire movie is near the end, outside the bar with Booker.

Nile: Yeah. [takes a breath.] Talked to Copley. Said he could fix it. Make it look like I was killed in action. [nods gently to herself] My family will mourn, but, uh... [tiny shrug, head-shake.] ...they’ll be able to move on. It’s just like what we did with my dad. [sighs. Turns to look out over the water. Voice wavers.] I just really want to hear my mom’s voice one more time. Booker: [looks down, pauses, turns to lean next to Nile.] You’re a good kid, Nile. [looks at her, speaks earnestly.] You’re gonna be great for the team.

Sébastien le Livre, whose greatest tragedy is that his children disbelieved and rejected his love for them, would be very moved by Nile's concern and love for her mother. "You're a good kid, Nile," in the sense that she's honoring her parent in a way he, a bereaved parent, appreciates.

There's also the fun shippy reading that he's preemptively friend-zoning her because there's about to be several lifetimes between him and spending any more time with this woman he was having an obvious "oh no she's hot" reaction to over dinner in Goussainville, but I, a feral BoN shipper, like the first reading even better.

But the point is, calling Nile "kid" is an element of the movie that says a lot about the characters using that word. When it gets repeated in fanfiction, it says something about the author.

If you're reading this and reflecting "oh shit I wrote the team calling Nile kid without thinking about it at all beneath the surface" I have a really cool suggestion for you: just edit it. Or at least consider not doing it again. We all make mistakes. We all run with things that we pick up in canon or see in other people's fic that seem funny and harmless, and once we think about those things more deeply we might find that actually it's kinda fucked up, or not what canon was trying to say, or fine on the surface but not fine if it becomes The One True Fanon. Having characters who are either white, men, or both call the adult protagonist who's a young Black woman "kid" all the time carries a weight to it. Please let's let that weight fall off Nile's fully-grown shoulders.

Next up, orders, suggestions, assistance, and other flavors of mentoring Nile and/or telling her what to do. Credit and appreciation to StarWatcher for transcribing the movie here on AO3, all my line quotes are pulled from there.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Boss

Prompt.. Lexa and Clarke sleep together one night, the next morning Clarke comes in to start her new job and turns out Lexa will be her boss (basically how Meredith and Derek first meet in grey's anatomy) yeah cool...love your writing

The tiny townhouse on the corner of Grant and Lincoln was nearly unpacked, but still occupied the unfinished zone of moving in. The furniture was there, with boxes opened and in various states of emptied. Sheets were tossed on the bed, but it wasn’t made. Clothes were rooted through and half hung in the closet at the top of the stairs. The only things in the fridge were little Chinese take out boxes and a handful of sauce packets. 

But that didn’t mean a thing to the bodies on the couch. 

Well tired and sated, the two tangled torsos and limbs hung and clung to each other on the small area, not having much to discuss the night before, but rather making the other body too tired to hear and speak and think, and thus fell asleep in a knot. It wasn’t many hours of sleep between the bar and the sex and the moment one of the bodies shifted and the otehr fell to the floor with a thud. 

“Ow.” 

“What was--”

“Just my back. And hip. And… head,” the body on the floor wheezed slightly, wincing against the pain. 

“Oh shit, it’s daylight,” Clarke squinted toward the windows witn no curtains or blinds and realized how late it was. “Oh fuck!”

“Seems to be.” 

The body on the couch sat up and hopped over the back before snatching the blanket and carefully wrapping it around her naked body. 

“I have to go. I have work...um…”

“Lexa,” she sat up from the floor, propping herself up on her elbows and looking up over the cushions. 

Completely naked, the girl on the floor smiled and pushed away a mess of hair while Clarke looked at her and blushed and tried not to look, desperately. She wanted to look, but that would distract her from the process of getting ready, and Clarke had to get to work. It was her first day, after all, beautiful naked sex god be damned. 

“Right. Lexa. Nice to meet you, but I have to--”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded, tugging a pillow in front of herself to shield as much nakedness as possible. “Do you live here?” 

“Just moved.” 

“Cool. From where.” 

“I really have to-- It was fun and all--”

A pair of blank panties were held up from the floor by hands attached to a mischievous hand oddly victorious grin. Clarke remembered the same smile somewhere between the whiskey and tequila, the smile nd the eyes and the intent way the stranger in the bar listened to her words. More importantly, she remembered the fragments of the sex and the things that mouth could do and that was the reason for the victory, and it was deserved. 

“But you have to go to work,” Lexa repeated. 

With a graceless motion, Clarke reached over the couch and snatched the offending lingerie before agreeing full-heartedly. 

“It was nice to meet you, Lexa,” Clarke promised. “But when I come back downstairs, you’ll be gone, and I’ll be on my way to work.” 

“Right. Work. I should, too. It was nice, to uh, do this. Maybe we can again--”

The offer was barely acknowledged as Clarke hopped up the stairs and toward the shower, leaving Lexa smiling somewhat, amused at the display before she looked down at herself and chuckled at what the past five minutes of her life looked like. 

XXXXXXXXXX

It was incredibly stupid. It was monumentally stupid. It was the dumbest thing she’d ever done, or at least very close to the top of the long list. But after three weeks of refusing to unpack the house and dealing with the question of employment, Clarke couldn’t handle it any longer, and joined the land of the living again. Perhaps a bit too hard, which was, above all else, stupid. Incredibly stupid. 

Clarke didn’t have too much time to think about anything else as she sprinted into the tall building that had its own distinct imprint on the city. Hair a mess and shirt sloppily in the process of being tucked in, she flashed her badge and rushed toward the elevators as she repeated how stupid it’d been to get absolutely drunk and hook up with a stranger on the couch, and then not setting an alarm, for her first day of her dream job. 

Again and with emphasis, Clarke was an incredibly stupid and gay individual. 

“Ms. Griffin,” the receptionist greeted her with a smile. “I’ve been instructed to ask that you wait right here until Ms. Moore is finished with her phonecall.” 

“Right, of course,” Clarke nodded as she attempted to underplay how extravagantly winded she was. 

Grateful for the moment to process, Clarke took a seat in the reception and processed what the past hour of her life looked like. She somehow woke up and kicked out a very naked woman from her house, that she could almost remember the name of somewhat. And she’d run across town and made it to work. On time, or at least on time enough for her boss. 

Only when she’d caught her breath did Clarke realize that she never got Le-- La-- Lara? Lena? Larry? Fuck. She never got the stranger’s number. 

“Hey, Clarke, thanks for your patience.” 

The woman who interviewed her twice finally walked out from behind the hallowed doors of Woods Publishing, and Clarke gave up trying to remember and prayed she did not smell like as much tequila as she’d inhaled the night before. 

“I’m so happy to be here, Ms. Moore,” she grinned and shook the outstretched hand. 

“Luna is fine. We’re the creatives,” she winked and led Clarke toward the door. “We get a little more freedom than the stuffed shirts in editing and sales.” 

As they moved down the hall, there was a minute smell of weed, and Clarke realized that this job was going to be better than she’d ever imagined. 

“I thought for your first day, I’d kind of get you set up, take you to our morning huddle and pitch meetings, and then after lunch make you meet everyone in a super awkward and invasive department bash.” 

“Bash?” 

“Yeah, well, people stop coming when I call them meetings and ice-breakers. I’ve decided to rename things different, more fun words to trick them into the same meetings.” 

“How’s it going so far?” 

“Amazingly well. Just wait until you see the turn out for your meet-and-greet… I mean bash.” 

Clarke couldn’t help but smile. Her boss was calm and cool, funny and approachable, and most importantly, she was clearly very into her job, which was a godsend. Hiring was often abou personality and camaraderie, as in how well a new personality would fit into a team, and Clarke already felt at home. 

The day went by easily enough, as all first days are known to do. She met her team and got her desk, got to feel out a little of how the day flowed with the promise of her assignments arrival soon enough. Luna passed her off around lunch to one of the teammates, and Clarke fell into enjoying her new coworkers with very light company gossip over not terrible sandwiches in the cafeteria. She learned all about the office romances and the merger, the new corporate structure and how great it was compared to other companies. She learned about the owner’s daughter who started a few months ago and was actually nice to work for, and more importantly, Clarke learned that there was a very lax policy when it came to punctuality. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

By the end of the day, Clarke felt like she would like it there, and was eager to help and work on drawing some of the projects. She was ready to work with the team and she was ready to finally be creative and produce something. 

“Thank you all again, for welcoming Clarke to our team,” Luna grinned and held up her glass as the rest of the team did the same. 

She was right, of course, that calling it a bash did something to make them all want to stay a few minutes later and mingle. 

“Enjoy the gift baskets sent from the studio for our last project, but within reason. And we’ll jump right in tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” Clarke smiled and accepted a drink. 

“I’ll see you bright and early. We’ll get you started on part of our new programming and onto the new project.” 

“I can’t wait.”

Clarke found herself pulled into a conversation over artwork for the storyboard on the wall in the main rom, and even though it was technically about work, the other artists were more than eager to talk about their plans, even over drinks. 

And then she looked up and nearly spit out her drink before turning around very quickly so that her back was to the familiar green eyes and the person she’d kicked onto the floor that very morning. 

“Looks like the boss decided to make a stop. I’m going to finally ask her out,” one of the guys decided as he stood a little straighter and awkwardly fixed his hair. 

“There’s no way Lexa Woods gives you the time of day,” Raven scoffed, sipping her drink and sneaking a look at the grinning CEO. “I bet you twenty bucks she doesn’t even speak to you.” 

“She’s really nice.” 

“Oh, I know. But I bet she won’t even notice you.” 

Clarke felt the blood leave her face as she hurried to sneak another look to confirm that it was, in fact, hell freezing over. And sure enough, for some stranger reason, in a city of hundreds of thousands of people, she was in the same room as the stranger she drunkenly hooked up with sixteen hours beforehand. 

And that stranger was her boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. That stranger was Lexa Woods, CFO of Woods Publishing, daughter of the owner, inheritor to the castle. 

“What do you think, Clarke?” Raven turned toward her. Just five minutes ago, Clarke liked Raven, but now, she wanted to disappear and Raven was blocking the exit. “Think Dan here has a chance?” 

“I don’t really know anything about her,” Clarke shrugged and downed the rest of her drink, careful to stay turned around. 

She didn’t know anything about Lexa Woods, except how she tasted and the noises she made and this thing she did with her fingers that--

“She hasn’t been here long, but she’s actually not the worst, as far as suits go. She likes the creative floors. Her dad’s given her a few projects I’ve been on and I think we work pretty well together,” she explained, offering Clarke a refill. 

“Cool, cool, nice.” 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or you’re a very bad drinker.” 

“I, uh, had a few too many last night.” 

“Hair of the dog then,” Raven grinned and clinked their glasses. “I think I’m going to like having you around, Griffin. At least until you start asking for advanced tech and drive me crazy with your doodles. Oh shit, there he goes.” 

Despite herself, Clarke turned around and watched the illustrator move through the crowd. She looked immediately at Lexa and actually caught her eye. She held the look and she watched Lexa smile at her, though she couldn’t move to return it. Mortification was at the forefront of her brain. That and oddly proud of herself for pulling someone like Lexa Woods, even when she wasn’t on her A game. 

Only when Clarke saw Dan get close, did she look away and break the stupor she found herself stuck in. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t figured out that she’s gay.” 

“What?”

“Dan has the worst gay-dar of all time,” Raven chuckled. “I almost feel bad taking his money. Almost.” 

Sure enough, as he walked up toward his boss’ boss’ boss, full of confidence and vim, Lexa didn’t even notice him, her eyes firmly locked on Clarke’s as she moved through the crowd, finally deciding to approach. It took a few steps before Clarke realized what was happening, and only then did she feel the two and a half drinks she’d had. 

She really didn’t like Raven. 

“I knew it.” 

Clarke didn’t say a word, but rather looked for a quick escape, though none existed and she already knew that. 

“Hey, I thought I’d come welcome you to the team personally. I’m Lexa Woods.” 

With a smile and her hand outstretched, the CEO stood there, as if she hadn’t gone down on her new employee on her couch. 

“Lexa Woods, as in…” 

“Yeah, that’s my name outside, but don’t hold it against me,” she grinned, holding the handshake a little bit longer. “It was Callie, right?” 

“Clarke.” 

“I’m sorry. Clarke.” 

“I didn’t expect to see you on my first day.” 

“Yeah,” Lexa chuckled. “I can imagine. I like hanging out down here more than upstairs. How are you, Ms. Reyes?” 

“Doing alright,” Raven nodded, appraising the scene before her. “Taking Clarke under my wing, as it were.” 

“I’d be careful,” the boss warned. “It was nice to meet you again, Clarke. I’ll see you guys later. I have a meeting I should try to get to ontime. Punctuality is key.”

Clarke burned red and nodded. 

“Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Woods.” 

“Lexa’s fine.”

“Yeah you are.” 

Lexa just smiled and waved again before disappearing. Dan joined the group a second later and passed a twenty to his friend. The boss left the room a moment later without a look back, and Clarke finally breathed. 

“So,” Raven furrowed. “When did you fuck our boss?” 

XXXXXXXXXX

For three weeks, Clarke managed to avoid all thoughts and ideas of Lexa Woods, CEO and absolute beauty. She didn’t avoid her social media, nor did she avoid much of the idle gossip about her at work, but for the most part, Clarke refused to think about her as much as possible, which amounted to about never. 

Sometimes at work, she was able to go for hours, focusing on her projects. Sometimes, Clarke found herself avoiding areas she suspected she might show up, and for three glorious weeks, she was fairly successful. 

Bent over her drawing board, Clarke found herself in a period of Lexa-less thoughts, happy to escape her life and all else, and instead find some sort of outlet for everything she’d been feeling over the past year. 

“These are very good.” 

“Fuck, you scared me,” Clarke breathed, turning around quickly. “I mean. Not fuck.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t followed up,” Lexa smiled softly, hands tied behind her back as she perused Clarke’s wall of sketches for the short they were doing. “I was out of town on business. How is your first month going, Ms. Griffin?” 

“Do you take such an interest in all of your employees, or just the ones you seduce?” 

“I believe you were the one seducing. I was drunk and adorable and you took advantage of me in my drunk and adorable state.” 

Clarke balked and grit her teeth before seeing that Lexa was making fun of her, which did nothing to calm her. 

“Someone who pins the other to their front door, is not being taken advantage of.” 

She smiled again and Clarke found it infuriating. And hot. But also infuriating a little more. 

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Lexa nodded. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to address that… trist.” 

“It was a fluke, and I think we should stay professional. Like we have.”

“I thought I was keeping it fairly professional.” 

“I just mean, you can’t-- we don’t have to talk about that… trist.” 

“Or we could?” she waited to gauge Clarke’s reaction. “Or not. Definitely not. Very professional. Just pretend it never happened.” 

“Exactly. Thank you for stopping by, Ms. Woods.” 

“Lexa is still fine. We’re going to be working together a bit. Everyone calls me Lexa.” 

“Professional,” Clarke repeated. 

“Casual, even. Professionally casual.” 

“Exactly.” 

XXXXXXXXX

“Professional,” Lexa nodded to herself and tried to catch her breath. The naked body beside her repeated the same thing with a sigh. 

“But we can’t do that again. We were just scratching an itch,” Clarke reasoned as Lexa agreed, humming along with the familiar song. 

If any of that were true, she wouldn’t have been naked in Clarke’s half-made bed, next to a full-naked girl. If she had anything to say about it, they’d be doing it much more and often and professionally. But she was the boss, and she wasn’t allowed to make that call. Clarke had to make it. And Lexa was very grateful that Clarke made it. 

It wasn’t Lexa’s fault that they enjoyed the same bar, or that they happened to notice each other, and it wasn’t her fault that she liked kissing Clarke. 

“I quite like scratching that itch with you.” 

Lexa turned her head and watched Clarke smile before regaining her composure. 

“Don’t sweet talk me, Woods. I’m your employee.” 

“Yeah, but like, only kind of.” 

Clarke turned and gave her a look before Lexa chuckled and rolled toward her, pressing her luck as she pressed against Clarke, kissing her shoulder and her neck. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Clarke turned over as well. “Go into HR and tell them we’re sleeping together?” 

“I could fire you?” 

“Lexa.”

“I could quit?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Or you could agree to go on an actual date with me, and promise not to take your clothes off.” 

“You’re the one that takes them off of me!” 

Despite her wiggling, Clarke let Lexa pull her closer. She ran her fingertips along Lexa’s cheek, squishing her cheeks together so she was making fish lips and smiled at the display, amused at herself and how Lexa let her do that. 

“I zwant tovee hrofeshinal widzth you. Vutd I sink I alike you.” 

“You sound ridiculous.” 

Lexa sighed until Clarke let go of her cheeks, unable to keep the smile there. Instead she held her chin now, between her forefinger and thumb, keeping her steady and there. Fingertips moved up and down her back. 

“I think we can do this without messing up work.” 

“How?” 

“We just don’t work together. I’ll stay off of your projects. Luna has complete control over personnel and who is on what.” 

“If it goes bad?” 

“Then I’ll definitely quit. Sell the company probably. Move to Zurich,” she decided. 

“That plan developed quickly.” 

“It’s always in my back pocket in case a beautiful girl who works for me creates a problem. I will not be caught unprepared again.” 

“Again?” 

“It’s an expression.” 

“Mmm,” Clarke smiled and nodded. 

She didn’t waste a moment. She leaned forward and kissed Lexa because she had to be certain, and she had to find some kind of bravery. She should think about it more, and she should have made a pros and cons list, but something about this moment, this person, Clarke just felt alive, and she’d been chasing it for so long. 

“Did I get the job?”

“You got a date. One date.” 

“I can work with that.”

[shera-dnd]

Love for a Dark Heart

Adding now to the list of things I can’t fucking believe I got paid to write: My FFXIV character falling in love with herself.

Honestly I could have kept writing this for another 5k words more, but I set the rules so I’m gonna stick to them

As usual you can follow this link right here to read it on AO3 if you’d prefer that. If you’d like to have a fic written by me you should feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules for donations over here) and let’s get going with the fic

You are a rational woman.

You try to deal with the facts and not let emotion rule over your decisions. That doesn’t mean you’re cold hearted or any such thing, but when it comes to wielding aether you really cannot let your emotions get in the way, lest your magic escape your control entirely.

It’s why you joined the Arcanists Guild so long ago, their approach to spell craft was exactly what you needed, and after many long months of training you had even mastered the lost art of summoning. It had been your calculated and well crafted spells that had felled the Primals and even bested Gaius and his Ultima Weapon.

But what did that amount to?

You’ve been betrayed, the Sultana is dead, your friends are lost, and the nations you fought to defend probably have a price on your head by now. All your possessions now fit neatly into the tiny backpack you brought along in your journey to Ishgard, and the only people left to console you are Alphinaud and Tataru, but in all honesty you’re usually the one consoling them now.

But Ishgard still welcomes you and still needs you. House Fortemps has embraced you and the least you can do is fight to protect them as well. Just keep fighting and saving people until everything gets solved, it definitely worked just fine the first time you tried that, so why not try it again?

You don’t want to be bitter, you don’t want to be angry, you genuinely feel sorry whenever you snap at Alphinaud or Haurchefant, you know they’re having a hard time too. Still it is so hard not to just let that frustration fester in your heart.

One day you’re walking the streets of Ishgard, trying to work the anger out of your system, when you hear a man muttering something. It was a story about a man who fought like a beast, who wielded the Darkness like other men would wield a blade. Something about this story sparks your curiosity and next thing you know you’re pressing the man for details.

It seemed your mystery man had died in battle with the holy knights of Ishgard and his corpse had been dumped in the Brume. It was unfortunate, but mayhaps you could still find his corpse, maybe even his soulstone.

You weren’t thinking of wielding the darkness, were you? No, it was simply academic curiosity. You just couldn’t leave such a thing unstudied, right? Of course. Now to make your way to the Brume.

No pulse, no breathing, skin as cold as the snow around you, that man was a corpse. At least he was a corpse with a soulstone, maybe you could study that. You just have to take it and-

A voice calls for you in the dark.

You wake up confused, but still intact. Better yet, the man you thought dead was now alive and well in front of you. His name is Fray and he was a Dark Knight. Apparently so were you now.

Perhaps embracing the dark should have been difficult, it should have been the kind of decision you pondered over and considered all the pros and cons. It wasn’t supposed to be something you did on a whim, but in reality it was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

You were stronger now. How else could you wield a weapon so massive? How else could those knights strike you with their blades and barely make you flinch? How else could you take all that anger, and frustration that you had repressed for so long, and give it such a beautiful shape as it cut down those hallowed bastards? 

It felt good.

It felt too good.

Perhaps the life of a Dark Knight was exactly what you needed.

In the weeks that passed no one questioned why you disappeared every night or where you went. You had gone through a lot, and they just wanted to give you space to heal. Besides, who would question what the Warrior of Light did with her spare time? It almost made you feel bad for what you were doing.

Almost.

It was hard feeling bad now that you have started studying the Darkness. No, studying would imply a lot more research and controlled tests. What you were doing was more like exercising it, working out a muscle you didn’t know you had until now. If that meant killing your fair share of monsters then so be it.

Especially when working that metaphorical muscle also seemed to improve your physical ones. Even your eye sight seemed to have improved somehow. With time your tunic had been replaced by plate armor, your glasses by a full helmet, your book of spells by the biggest sword you could carry.

There were still hiccups when adapting to this new life as a Dark Knight. No matter how many times you attuned yourself to the Darkness you could only ever hear whispers of that voice in the dark that had once called your name. It worried you, and frustrated Fray to no end.

Frustration seemed to be Fray’s default state. Always furious at the people around you who insist on asking you to fix all their problems, ready to throw threats and insults any time someone so much as  thought of interrupting you. You try to be nice, you try to de-escalate, to help those people anyway, but you know deep down that you agree with her.

Her? Wasn’t Fray a man?

Doesn’t matter, Fray can use whatever pronouns she wants. You just can’t remember her ever telling you she changed those. 

Wait did she just mention fighting Leviathan? Had she been there with you on that ship? Surely you’d remember that.

Why hadn’t she mentioned that before?

Maybe if you still saw the world through your old scholarly lens, maybe if you still distanced yourself, studied the situation, maybe then you would have realized what was happening. You really can’t help but feel a little stupid when the truth finally reveals itself.

When Fray takes off her helmet it is your face that you see, your eyes that stare into yours, your voice that challenges you. She was your Darkness, your repressed rage against those who used you again, and again to suit their needs; your frustrations with this world that would exhaust you to the bone before finding any solution that didn’t involve you, your need for someone to just step up and care for you even once.

If only she hadn’t hurt those people, if only her first answer wasn’t to just draw her sword on those she saw as a threat to you, maybe then you’d let her go.

Your swords clash and ultimately she’s the one to fall. Your Darkness, your heart, your…

...Esteem, lies defeated before you and you don’t know how to feel. She was a monster formed from the deepest abyss, yet when you hear her declare that she will always be there for you, if only you were to call her, you can’t help but feel hope.

It was only after you exposed yourself to just about every guard, and soldier at Dragon Head that you decided that it’s about time you came clean to your friends.

Alphinaud and Haurchefant didn’t understand why you had made the decisions you had, but they couldn’t think of anyone better to wield such a power. Tataru trusted you with her life and just a bit of Darkness wouldn’t get in the way of that. Estinien claimed that he understood, that he too struggled against the evil that granted him his powers. In the end it all felt too easy, too unearned.

Still, there was a nation to save and a war to stop. Your little existential crisis would have to wait. You could almost hear Esteem screaming at you for ever forming that thought. 

Soon it wouldn’t be just almost.

Weeks passed as you traversed Dravania, searching for a way to stop this war. For a moment you had hoped that by exposing the lies of Ishgardian nobility you would finally put an end to this, but of course that just led the holy men of Halone to do what they thought was right, which just happened to be capturing and torturing an innocent man.

You went in to try to save a man, to make those self appointed saints pay. You didn’t go there to lose a friend, yet that’s what you did.

You kept your composure long enough to reach your private chambers in the Fortemps manor, but as soon as the door closed behind you, you collapsed. You could have saved him, you could have prevented this, you could have jumped out of the way, or pushed him away, or just done anything.

But you didn’t, and now he paid the price for it.

What a pathetic excuse for a Warrior of Light you are.

“You’re no such thing!” A familiar voice calls. You don’t know when or how you summoned her back, but there she was.

Esteem lifted you from the ground and laid you in your bed. You noticed now that instead of the black armor she had favored in your fight, now she wore one of your old robes and your old glasses. It was almost funny thinking of a being of pure aether deigning to wear glasses for some reason.

With a gentleness you didn’t know either of you had, she caressed and soothed you as she repeated those same words over and over again, “it wasn’t your fault.”

It felt pathetic to only have a shadow of yourself to care for you, but for now it didn’t matter. All you could do in that moment was cling, cling to the kind words and the soft touch of the only person who cared enough to offer, and try as hard as you can to believe in what she’s saying.

“Rest now, you fool,” she asked, her voice just as gentle as before.

“Please stay,” you pleaded, unsure if she would disappear the moment you closed your eyes.

It was a selfish thing to ask, to force her to stay in the material world simply for your own comfort, but Esteem wanted nothing more than for you to be selfish, so there was never any doubt that she would oblige.

The next morning she was still there, asleep somehow, still holding you in her arms. It shamed you to admit that this was the closest you’ve ever been to another person. No one had held you this close, no one had ever let you fall asleep in their arms - or fallen asleep in yours for what that matters - had she been more than just a piece of your own heart, perhaps you would have found reason for embarrassment.

There was certainly some strangeness to it, of course. Waking up in your own arms and seeing your own face in the morning was as surreal an experience as you could imagine right now. Though it did allow you some interesting introspection. You shifted in bed a little, trying to get a good look at your own face, wondering if you had ever looked this peaceful before.

“If you even consider rising from this bed I promise you the Archbishop will be the least of your worries,” she grumbles without even opening her eyes.

“I did not know you could sleep,” you comment.

“Neither did I,” she replies. She pushes herself into a sitting position, having completely given up on the idea of returning to your shared slumber, “if I must be honest, I don’t even know how I was granted physical form once more.”

“Yet your first response to sudden corporealization was not to question it, but to attend to the sobbing mess on the floor,” you are by no means attempting to mock her, it simply sounds odd to you.

“What am I to say?” She jested, “I’m quite fond of that sobbing mess.”

At that you averted your gaze. It felt embarrassing somehow, to have someone declare their fondness so bluntly, even if that someone wasn’t an actual person.

“Have we truly grown so alienated from affection?” She sighs, her voice a mix of worry and disappointment.

You motion to protest, but a knock on the door interrupts you both. With a gesture, she requests you stay in bed while she handles this. That may be the worst idea you have ever heard, but you’re far too tired to protest.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake and well,” Alphinaud greets her cheerfully, “If you’re disposed, I’d like to ask-”

“I’m not,” She interrupts, “now, you may be on your way.”

The poor boy is too stunned to reply, and does nothing to stop her from slamming the door on his face. A smug smirk forms on her face as she strides back to you.

“Must you be so rude to all my friends?” You say as you glare at her.

“Must you put the needs of every last soul above your own well being?” She shot back, matching your stare.

You’re the one to break the stare first, “I’ll try not to.”

She nods and gives you a satisfied smile as she sits next to you, “now do try to rest. Wouldn’t want me to be rude to poor Alphinaud for naught.”

In the weeks that followed she had been ever by your side. Like your old summons she could effortlessly appear and disappear from thin air, combined with her nature as a being of pure aether it made you suspect you had somehow called upon an egi of Esteem’s former self. This was promptly disproven by the fact that her response to any direct commands was a simple and direct, “sod off!”

By all accounts she should simply be darkness aspected aether, given shape and purpose by your needs and desires, as unreal as Ysayle’s false Shiva. Yet here she was, talking when she wanted to, sleeping when she wanted to, eating when she wanted to--seven hells she even has different tastes than you. There was no other way around it, Esteem had become her own person somehow.

Part of you worried that you had somehow created a Primal of your own heart. That had now been buried under the far more substantial worry that you have been utterly mistreating an actual person with thoughts and feelings, who had done nothing but help you and care for you for weeks. This in turn had been buried under the mess of feelings that struck your heart at the fact that this woman had held you in your sleep for weeks now. Mayhaps you should just focus on hitting things with big swords for now.

On that angle things have been a lot simpler. Your preparations for the journey to Azys Lla were now almost concluded, and as you waited for Master Cid to finish his work you took your time to aid a fellow Dark Knight by the name of Sidurgu.

That man quite proudly embodied the mass of hate and anger you expected from a Dark Knight, a trait that seemed to invoke Esteem’s disdain and earn him quite a share of her unkindly remarks. Neither his emotional state nor her opinion of him were ever aided by the fact that you surpassed him with ease.

You may have stumbled onto this power like a blind fool, but it had somehow suited you with a natural ease that eluded your companion. It was in the pursuit of more power - under the guise of aiding a young girl that Sidurgu had taken under his wing - that you found yourself once more doing menial tasks for moogles. At least today you’d have the catharsis of beating them within an ilm of their lives for it.

What you did not expect was for them to burst into song and dance afterwards.

“‘Tis love! ‘Tis love!” They profess with their tiny voices, “all-powerful, shining love!”

Suffice to say that the both of you were completely befuddled by the performance - Esteem loudly laughing in the corner she carved for herself in your mind - had Rielle, your shared charge, not appeared in that moment you were sure you’d both sit like that for an hour.

It was only as you made your way back to Ishgard that Sidurgu took you aside to talk about what had unfolded. He mocked the idea that love could be the true power of Darkness, but you could see that sharp edge on his voice begin to dull ever so slightly.

A year ago you would have been just as dismissive of such an idea, to properly channel aether you require coldly calculated theorems, not something as nebulous as love. 

Yet here you are. You’ve wielded anger and frustration like weapons for months now, why can’t you wear love like an armor?

You loved your friends and that gave you strength.

You loved Eorzea and that gave you strength.

You loved yourself and that…

...Well, did you really love yourself that much? Not as much as you should if Esteem were to be believed, but she does. She loves you, and that gives you strength.

It’s with this context that you begin to notice the little things she does, even when she’s not around. The gentle touches, the kind words, the worry in her eyes after a rough fight. It had been her love that helped you strike down with your blade, it had been her love that held you up when an enemy would fell you. It made you oh so keenly aware of her heartbeat - surprisingly human and comforting - next to yours as she held you both together.

Had you loved her too this whole time?

Perhaps you should have questioned this before the worries of facing Garleans, Ascians, and the Archbishop, loomed this close in the horizon. Perhaps you should have questioned that Esteem’s love didn’t come just from some magically ordained purpose. Perhaps you should have questioned what it meant about you that you so willingly accepted and reciprocated that love.

By the time you arrive at the Fortemps manor that night, you have already made your decision and you find her in your room, reading a spicy romance novel from Emmanellain’s secret stash. Steeling yourself in a way you hadn’t done since facing Ultima, you approach her and bring your lips to hers. It was a fleeting touch, but it had the whole of you buzzing with nervous energy.

With the most detestably smug smile, she brings you close again so she may kiss you back and, as if she hadn’t just shaken your very soul with that act, returned to her reading.

You stare at her, utterly confounded by her lack of any real reaction. It takes her a moment to realize you are still staring and the words that escaped her mouth would infuriate and haunt you for the rest of your existence.

“Was I wrong to assume we’d been lovers for at least a month now?”

Perhaps you really should have just stuck to hitting people with big swords.

[leefi]

ORV 16

kim dokja is that your mom. dokja. dokja. dokja is that your mo

HSY: hey should we get red grapes or gr

KDJ: are you sick in the head? are you that mentally enslaved and intellectually subservient? And intellectually molested and IDEOLOGICALLY MOLESTED

Ne dom HSY vs Ni dom KDJ. fight fight fight kiss kiss kiss

at least I'm pretty sure she's Ne dom? but I don't know if ENFP or ENTP (leaning towards ENTP for the sheer audacity). If I'm right in either case she and KDJ should be a natural match in terms of synergy, which is hilarious. That potential double T is terrifying to me though like...relax

I wonder how they're gonna end up reconciling their differences? Like KDJ I'm assuming that HSY wants to see through the ending that she reached in her plagiarized work, which is in direct conflict with KDJ's goal to create a new one entirely.

"Lycaon of the Imyuntar. Pay respects to the protector."

Lycaon's body slowly fell in front of me. First his knees touched the ground, slowly followed by his head. There was a severe shaking of his eyes like he couldn't admit it.

"Do it properly."

kim dokja is so funny because randomly he will do shit like this which makes me go king are you ok. there is some very deeply veiled and fucked up god complex somewhere in there but i unironically love it. do it more

no but actually this is fine because kdj deserves bragging rights now and forever. He's earned them tenfold and I am VERY firmly in the "kdj has done nothing wrong yet - in fact, he's done everything exactly right" camp. hsy it's too early for me to say anything (she tells kdj herself that he's got her motives all twisted) and yjh is a girlboss so he's exempt from moral discussion (I tried twice to write out my thoughts about him and got nowhere. The constellations keep referring to him as ultimately righteous but every action we've seen him take so far has been neutral at best and I think I just need to wait to learn about him more. Like with KDJ i needed to see the moment in Chungmuro with the green zones for me to go "okay, this man is genuinely a good person - more than that, he inspires goodness in the people around him as well". I haven't had that moment with YJH and it definitely won't ever be something like KDJ's - he's not a leader type - but I'm sure it'll come). Interacting with KDJ more will end up changing his tune as it has for the other characters - he's just a tougher nut to crack. And understandably so - don't tell me you wouldn't also fall into a pit of despair if the entire universe was hinged around your endless deaths and rebirths and all actions you took - whether good or bad - were ultimately rendered meaningless. I think that KDJ is really unfair to YJH for this reason especially: like, you read about his suffering for ten years????? Surely you can empathize with him a little bit? I understand that you're both in the same situation now but you have more context than him!!! You aren't stuck in an existential loop of meaningless despair - he believes that he is!! Forever!! (I'm gonna stop here because I'm missing context and making assumptions). But TL;DR Not to be like "oh my poor meow meow 🥺🥺🥺" but...the man has genuinely gone through it LMAO. I also get that KDJ can't just walk up and tell him "hey! Don't worry things will get better 😙✌️✨💖". Because at the end of the day this is ultimately a misunderstanding that needs to be organically resolved with more time and interaction between the two.

TL;DR;DR kdj is mansplaining yjh's own trauma back to him

[innytoes]

Self-Insert January: Let’s Go Steal A Protégé

Yes I did write a self-insert fanfic of my own fanfic. Most of this was written in December and then um, January happened. This takes place December, probably before Christmas (and is obviously not canon).

Happy Self Insert month!

Being with Leverage, Jamie had seen a lot of weird stuff. Done a lot of weird stuff, too. But all the breaking into highly classified places and museums and pretending to be a circus performer and jumping off the Eiffel Tower did not prepare them for the magic portal that opened up in the ceiling of the Leverage Offices, or the lady that fell through it.

Luckily, their startled yell had summoned an Eliot, which meant that if this was the beginning of an intergalactic space war or some kind of mutant criminal rival of Parker’s, Team Leverage was going to come out on top.

Except Eliot actually put away his knife and greeted the lady, who struggled out of the squashy purple beanbag chair she landed on. “Hardison, Parker, Inny’s here!” he called.

“What the hell is an Inny?” Jamie asked. Was it a species of alien? Was Hardison’s Doctor Who obsession because they literally knew The Doctor? Honestly, it wouldn’t really surprise Jamie.

“I the hell am an Inny,” Ceiling-Lady said, before gasping and pointing at them. Which was concerning, to say the least.

“That’s Inny,” Hardison said, coming into the office and handing the lady one of Jamie’s Mountain Dews. Rude.  “She’s from a darker timeline and drops out of the ceiling once or twice a year to catch up. And get inspiration for her fanfiction. Apparently we’re like, a TV show over there. What’s up, girl?”

“Is that why nobody is allowed to move the beanbag chair?” Jamie asked. They had thought it was some weird Parker thing. Or perhaps that it was on top of some kind of secret trap door to Hardison’s BatCave or something. They ignored the part about the fanfiction and the TV show. That was too Truman Show to think about. Though their brain was already going over actors they’d cast as the team. Eliot would totally be played by Chris Evans, right?

Inny stopped chugging the Mountain Dew long enough to shrug. “They used to live somewhere with way lower ceilings. Nearly broke something falling from this one.”

“Yeah, me,” Eliot grumbled. He nearly broke something again when Parker dropped down from the ceiling onto his back. “Dammit, Parker!”

“Inny!” Parker proclaimed. “How is Deeks?”

“Good!” the lady fished a beaten up phone out of her pocket. “He met some alpacas, wanna see?” Parker snatched up the phone and made delighted noises. Jamie peered over her shoulder. They had to admit the dog was pretty cute, and the alpacas looked very intrigued by their small, same-coloured, short-necked friend.

“How’s life in the darkest timeline?” Hardison asked.

“What date is it here?” the lady asked, looking around. “I mean, if you still know.”

“Why wouldn’t we know?” Parker asked, still swiping through dog pictures.

“Well, I mean, 2020, am I right?” Inny said, waiting for a reaction. She looked incredulous at their blank  faces. “It is 2020, here, right?”

“Um, yeah?” Hardison ventured carefully.

“How dark is this timeline of yours?” Jamie asked carefully. Sure, it was a tumblr joke, usually reserved for stuff like the however-many-renewed-season of Supernatural when great shows were cancelled or whatever creepy feature FriendCzar had tried to impose that month.

The woman paused, frowned, then took a deep breath. “In response to the global pandemic of a deadly respiratory virus, President Donald Trump suggested on television during a briefing that people should inject or ingest bleach to kill the virus.”  She took another big breath. “And that’s not mentioning the fact that he downplayed the seriousness of the virus while knowing how deadly and contagious it was, called it a hoax, made taking safety precautions a political thing instead of a public safety thing, and held massive super-spreader events.”

“Donald Trump?” Jamie asked. “The ‘you’re fired’ dude?”

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Inny responded, before taking another swig of her Mountain Dew. “Yeah, I mean, I thought the fact that Australia was on fire at the start of the year was going to be the only terrible thing I was going to tell you.” She laughed and shook her head ruefully, like that was some kind of funny joke.

“Australia was on fire?”

“Yeah. Parts of the US too, for a while. Orange skies. But since the country was basically on lockdown anyway, it wasn’t like it was very different to stay inside for that…” Jamie stared at the lady, then back at the adults. Parker didn’t look overly concerned, but then, she never really did. Eliot and Hardison were both frowning, though. There was no sign that this was some kind of elaborate prank Hardison was pulling on them with the help of one of Sophie’s acting friends. Besides, he was good, but not ‘fake opening a magic portal in the ceiling’ good. At least not within the five minutes Jamie had been in the other room.

After a litany of horrible things, which were apparently not even all of them, the woman stopped. “On the upside,” she said. “I perfected my banana bread recipe, Deeks met some alpacas, Leverage is getting a reboot, and I figured out why I probably keep dropping in here.”

“To remind us that things aren’t so bad like some messed up version of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?” Hardison guessed.

“Because Jamie is my OC,” she said, dropping a fucking bombshell like she just dropped out of the fucking ceiling. Jamie felt their brain fill with static, because no, they were a real person, and that either meant that this lady was full of bullshit, or, well, basically god. The Truman Show feeling returned ten times over. “This is my fanfic.”

Hardison recoiled a little. “No,” he whispered, fully understanding the implications of that. Hell, it was probably even weirder for him. Sure, knowing they were a TV show was probably cool, even more so with the reboot. But Fanfic Land didn’t fade to black and Jamie was pretty damn sure some kinky shit went on behind the soundproofed doors of their bedroom.

“Now, there’s two prevailing theories about this, as far as my internet rabbithole searches can tell,” Basically God Maybe continued. “Either I wrote this world into existence, because the multiverse is ever expanding and that is one of the ways it expands, or I just got some vibes from whatever crack between worlds keeps bringing me here and wrote down your shenanigans.”

At Parker and Eliot’s blank looks, Jamie clarified: “Basically, she’s either God or…”

“Some kind of shitty false prophet,” the lady on the beanbag chair beamed. “Probably the second one, honestly. My subconscious turns everything into a zombie apocalypse sooner or later, and you guys seem to be fine.”

Jamie whipped around to look at Hardison and Eliot, hopeful. “We’re fine, right?” they asked quickly. If anyone knew about a starting zombie apocalypse, it would be those two. Between Hardison poking around in basically every intelligence agency’s server ever and Eliot’s contacts, they’d know. God, Jamie hoped not. They were so not ready for a zombie apocalypse. Eliot hadn’t even taught them how to murder someone with an axe yet.

“We are definitely fine,” Hardison assured them.

“Yeah, I figured,” Not-God agreed. “If I had my say, Eliot would have stopped pining long before he did and kissed you guys.” Eliot grumbled and glared, probably because she was right. Parker patted him condescendingly on the head, which wasn’t helping matters.

The ceiling started crackling and glowing ominously. The lady put her can down as she slowly drifted off the beanbag, alien-abduction style. “Well, it’s been real. Be good, guys. Have some fun adventures. Ruin some rich douchebag’s day for me.”

“Will do,” Parker promised. “Say hi to your dog for me.” She got a thumbs up.

“Let us know how the reboot turns out,” Hardison said. Jamie figured it would probably fuck with the space-time continuum if she downloaded the show and brought it to them, but who knew. Maybe there was some kind of loophole for that, too. They were kind of curious to see what a Leverage show would look like. It probably had kickass fight-scenes.

“Stay safe,” Eliot said seriously. He’d been the most concerned about the talk of the pandemic, probably because you couldn’t punch it.

“Will do,” Inny shrugged. “I mean, 2021 can’t possibly be any worse, right?”

The portal crackled louder, which Jamie hoped wasn’t a sign. The lady was almost at the ceiling. She looked concerned, like she realised she just totally jinxed herself and the new year.

“Hey, just in case you are god,” Jamie called up. “Can you give me superpowers?”

The portal closed to the sound of laughter, and then there was silence. All that remained was a dent in the beanbag and an empty can of Mountain Dew.

“What the fuck,” they told the room at large.

“Yeah, you get used to it,” Parker said, before wandering off back to the blueprints she had been studying.

“I’m just gonna… check some things,” Hardison muttered, making a detour to the kitchen to grab a ginormous bottle of orange soda before getting behind his computer. “And buy a bunch of disinfectant and toilet paper, just in case.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, before bumping his shoulder against Jamie’s. “Come on,” he said.

“Come on where?” Jamie asked. “I’m having a bit of an existential crisis here.” If they were someone’s OC, did that mean that they didn’t have free will? Did it mean that all the cool things they had done the past year had only been because of some weird lady that fell out of the ceiling? Or did it mean-

“I’m gonna teach you to throw a knife so you can take out a zombie,” Eliot said.

Fuck that, the existential crisis could wait until 2am. They had more important things to do. Knife throwing would be fun and useful no matter if there was a zombie apocalypse or a pandemic, or they got superpowers.

[365days365movies]

April 8, 2021: Swiss Army Man (and Black Comedy) (Review)

Let’s look at the week’s other black comedies, shall we?

I’m a bit behind on the reviews (and the Recaps, but that’s a little easier to fix at the moment), but I decided to give something a shot. While I’ve still got full Reviews for each of those films, it occurred to me that the ones left to review are the black comedies. The Great Dictator is technically a part of the category as well, but I’m letting it skate by under satire. Plus, I already reviewed it. And, since Swiss Army Man is the last black comedy I’m covering this month, what better time than now to summarize the rest! Again, I’ll be giving more comprehensive reviews in due time. But until then...

Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), dir. Frank Capra: 90%

Wow, I get why this movie is so very loved, by everybody and my mom! Told her I watched it the other day, and she was very happy to hear it! This is a VERY funny movie, and while it is a black comedy, it’s more of a straight-up comedy than any of these other films! The acting’s a little cheesy sometimes, yeah, but Cary Grant is goddamn AMAZING in this movie. It’s mostly his supporting cast that serves the cheese platter (Raymond Massey especially). Plot and writing by Julius and Phillip Epstein are spot-on smooth, but directing isn’t one of Frank Capra’s best in my completely uninformed opinion. Production and art design is great, especially given that we’re mostly only in one place for the whole movie. Still, that place looks good regardless. Finally, the music by Max Steiner is also pretty fantastic, although it’s not going on my playlist anytime soon, to be honest. Editing by Daniel Mandell is also great, and the pacing of this movie’s plot is...mostly perfect. Lags a little when Jonathan comes in, I think. Anyway, highly recommended, and a must-see!

Recap (Part One | Part Two)

Withnail and I (1987), dir. Bruce Robinson: 86%

OK...this one is kind of hard for me. Because I think I was supposed to get more out of this film than I actually did. Maybe that’s because I’m a filthy American and all that, but this film came off as good dramatically, with some ribald humor in it...but not really that funny. But, OK, to briefly go through the points here: Richard E. Grant, Paul McGann, and Richard Griffiths all turn out fantastic performances here, and they’re extremely memorable. Plot and writing by director Bruce Robinson is very good as well, and it’s also autobiographical to an extent, which is interesting. Very wittily written and performed, so no complaints there. Directing is...fine? It’s fine. Nothing to write home about, although there’s one nice scene on a mountainside which sticks out. Same with Charles Lang and his cinematography, although that fares a little more memorable for me. Production and set design is great, and the music (by Adolph Deutsch)...leaves a little to be desired. In that I don’t remember it at all, not gonna lie. Editing by Arthur P. Scmidt is fine!

Recap (Part One | Part Two)

In Bruges (2008), dir. Martin McDonagh: 90%

Take my feelings on the humor for the preceding two and combine them, then make the tone WAY darker than either, and you have In Bruges. And HOT DAMN, I love it! All of the performances are ridiculously strong here, from Colin Farell and Brendan Gleeson, to Ralph Fiennes and Clémence Poésy. Although, Jordan Prentice and Jérémie Renier are mostly just OK, to be honest with you. And that was nothing to do with the writing and directing of Martin McDonagh, because GODDAMN, those are spot-fucking-ON. Seriously, if this movie has nothing else going for it, it’s some fast-paced writing and delivery that’ll knock your socks off. Love it. And Bruges is framed like a painting, and a nice one at that! It’s also a good looking movie, even if the color palette leaves a little to be desired sometimes. Production and art design is...well, it’s the city of Bruges, for the most part, let’s be honest. It looks good. And finally, music by Carter Burwell is...fine. It’s OK, it’s definitely not very memorable for me, to be honest. But, uh, this is a grizzly, dark, rough movie...and totally worth watching again, hot damn.

Recap

Swiss Army Man (2016), dir. Daniels: Well...keep reading!

Recap is here and here!

Review

Cast and Acting: 9/10

These two, Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe, are a hell of a pair...kind of. Fact of the matter is, Radcliffe is heavily restrained in his role until the very end of the film, but is also VERY GOOD with these restraints. I mean, is this one of those “disappear into the role” moments for him? I mean, it definitely is for Dano, but for Radcliffe...I was watching Harry Potter. Never didn’t see the boy who lived, ironically. But, that’s not really on Radcliffe at all, to be fair. Like I said, dude is legitimately fantastic, seriously. He does a fantastic job in the role of...well, being a dead body. And Paul Dano’s Hank is a genuinely interesting character, and one that I’d like to know more about, honestly. He does a great job with what he’s given. Oh, and Mary Elizabeth Winstead was there, too!

Plot and Writing: 8/10

Look...this is a weird-ass concept for a movie. I mean, come on, it’s a movie about a guy with intense social anxiety who makes friends with a semi-resurrected corpse that has multiple abilities and is slowly coming to terms with an new life. And yes, there’s definitely some symbolism in here, whether you see this as a story about depression, coming out, coming to terms with yourself, social anxiety, friendship, existential crises, personal development...dead bodies. Yeah, this film can be read in a LOT of different ways, it turns out. And is that a bad thing? No, of course not. But it is a little nebulous as a result, and you end up focusing less on the sybolis, and more on the whole “dead-body-Victorinox” thing. That plot and the writing, both by the Daniels (Daniel Schinert and Daniel Kwan), are well-done and very funny in a lot of instances (MOST instances, to be honest; this is a very funny film), but I can’t say that I think the plot itself is perfect. But then again, this may have just gone over my head.

Directing and Cinematography: 8/10

I mean...it’s good. Both the directing by the Daniels and the cinematography by Larkin Seiple are both quite good. Lighting is usually pretty great, framing is consistently good, I really don’t have any major complaints...or major comments. There are some good shots, to be clear, but I’m not going to say that it’s perfect or anything. To be fair, this is the Daniels’ first feature length film, so that’s interesting. But yeah, like I said, it’s good!

Production and Art Design: 9/10

This is a great looking movie! And that also comes down to the fact that there’s a pretty realistic looking Daniel Radcliffe puppet in here, and I genuinely didn’t notice until after the fact. It’s pretty great, though, and Radcliffe’s makeup is especially good. The setting of the Pacific Northwest woods is fantastic as well, and the whole thing is simply a great looking film overall. Not much comment outside of that!

Music and Editing: 9/10

MY LORD I love the music in this movie! I meant it when I said I’d be putting some of this on my playlist, because it sounds great. And it’s not just Andy Hull and Robert McDowell’s orchestration, but how the score is integrated with the plot and characters of the film! Look...I love it. Go back to my recap and check out the links embedded within to listen to my favorite tracks, if you’re curious! So, if I love the music so much, why not a 10 here? Editing. There are a few moment where the editing is a little weird. Faster cuts than needed, scene with the bear’s kinda weird, that kind of thing. Nothing huge, but it did come to mind when I was rating this section. Still, Matthew Hannam did a great job; just saw a couple spots I thought were weird.

86% for this one! I had a really good time.

This is the last straight-up black comedy I’m covering this time around, and it’s one hell of a film to end on! So, let’s go back to...well, the ‘50s, this time. Let’s start at the most imfluential comedy of the time period. And hey...might as well start with a near-certified banger, huh?

April 9, 2021: Some Like It Hot (1959), dir. Billy Wilder

[strangerfictions]

The Fight Part 3

Summary: You are struggling to sleep so both you and Billy go for some coffee and contemplation. 

Warnings: Mentions of Neil but other than that I think it is mostly angst 

A/N: Hey everyone long time no post. AA few of you may know that I am starting to post my work on AO3 before here so that’s why it has been pretty quiet on here. I have been struggling with this part for a while so I restarted it and I am super happy with it. I don’t plan on doing too many more parts because it is taking up a lot of time and I would like to move onto something new now! Anywas hope you enjoy ! 

It was late and you were overthinking again. Something you did often the past couple of months. You didn’t have long left in your senior year and you were starting to question your college applications. You couldn’t help question your ability and put yourself down for silly mistakes you had made throughout the year.

You sigh and throw back the bed covers leaving the warmth of your bed. Walking towards the window you notice Billy’s lights are still on. Not unusual for him to still be up. You walk towards your desk and turn on the lamp which illuminates your room. You walk back towards the window and spot Billy leaning out his window cigarette in hand and smoke escaping into the night. You open the window which causes him to look up towards you. Without thinking, Billy jumps out his window, barefooted, and walks towards you.

As he walks towards you, you can see the smile on his face. Not something you see very often from Billy, but it is always a welcomed sight. Things had been great between you two and you were grateful for that. You had both discussed dating for a long time one night and concluded that keeping it causal would work best for you both for now.

“Hey” You whispers as Billy stops in front of your window

“Hi…unlike you to be up at this time princess” You watch as Billy stubs his cigarette on the wall beside your window.

“Mhmm can’t sleep I keep thinking about college applications” You move slightly expecting Billy to climb over your windowsill.

“I have an idea! Get dressed and meet me at the end of the street” Without any further instruction Billy runs back towards his open window pulling it closed as he climbs in.

You quickly pull on some comfy clothes and write a note to your parents explaining that you went for a walk because you couldn’t sleep. You climb out your window and close it behind you. You look over and see Billy’s light is off. You can’t help but think about what he has planned as you walk toward the end of the street. He isn’t there when you get to the end of the street, so you sit on the curb and wait for him. Within seconds you here is car roar to life and you quickly stand up knowing the speeds he likes to drive. You look up the street and watch as his car comes into view and stops beside you. You open the door and get in.

“So where are you bringing me? Not planning on killing me are you?” You ask while pulling on your seat belt.

“Mhmm well, I’m not going to kill you now am I?” Billy smiles at you knowing how annoying you find his sarcasm sometimes.

“Funny! Seriously it's 4 am where are you bringing me?” You question as you rub your hands together to get a little warmer.

“You will just have to wait and see princess!” You dramatically sigh and fold your arms pretending to be mad that he wouldn’t tell you

“Fine but I’m not happy”

“I’m not happy either having to deal with how annoying you're being but here we are!” You give Billy a knowing look which causes him to burst out laughing.

“Come on! It’s a joke. Lighten up” Billy continues to laugh at your stubbornness as you watch the lights from Hawkins fade into a pitch-black road. Billy’s car the only thing on it.

“Why were you up Billy?” You ask after a few minutes of silence. You look over expecting an answer but all you get is a shoulder shrug

“Great conversation Billy” You say sarcastically

“I just was. I don’t sleep very well wake up at the slightest things. I heard Max get up to get a midnight snack and I have been awake since then. Better conversation for you princess?” Billy sighs as the tension builds in the air.

You both sit in silence as Billy drives you to wherever he is taking you. Ever now and then Billy will sigh and tighten his grip on the steering wheel. Something he does when he is thinking something.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to get like that with you” Billy finally says after a few minutes of silence between you.

“Mhmm okay…you know I’m here for you to talk to, right? It’s not like I’m going to use whatever you tell me against you. I’m here to help that’s what friends do!” You say reaching over and resting your hand on his upper arm.

“Jesus, I know I just…It’s not easy for me to be open with people is all. Can we drop it for now please?” You hum a yes and allow silence to take over the car again. Billy reaches over and turns on a random radio station and allows the soft music to play gently throughout the car.

After about ten minutes Billy pulls off onto a back road eventually coming to a diner. You sit up a little in the seat feeling stiff from the journey.

“This place has the best coffee and pie out there! So, we are going to get some and contemplate our life’s choices” Billy says as he pulls up a little away from the doors and turns the engine off.

You get out of the car and stretch a little while waiting for Billy to get out. Once Billy is out of the car he walks over towards the door and you follow before going inside he takes your hand in his and walks in.

On the outside, the diner looks bland but as soon as you step inside you are greeted by neon lights and the smell of coffee and pie.

“Okay so I have a usual booth and I haven’t not sat there ever and as you can its extremely busy so let’s just go straight to my booth before it is taken” You laugh at Billy’s exaggeration of the diner being busy. Well, maybe he is right. It is busy for 4 am. Two guys are sat at the front drinking coffee together. They look like truckers or something. And other than you, Billy and the waitress that all there is.

Billy practically drags you towards a bright red booth in the back of the diner. You scoot into one side of the booth and he does the same on the opposite side.

“Here’s the menu but I will tell you this…The apple pie here is pretty great so make your decision wisely” Billy says with a smirk as you glance down at the menu in your hand “You make it sound like it’s a life or death decision Billy” You laugh at how ridiculous Billy is being with you.

“It might be for all you know! You never know what could happen. This might just be my alibi for killing you later” You both burst out laughing as the waitress walks towards you.

“Good Morning what can I get you folks this evening?” The waitress asks. She is in her mid-fifties and is wearing a pink and white 50s style dress. Her hair gives away her age more than anything as it begins to grey at the roots.

“I will have a big slice of apple pie and coffee and my dear friend here will have the same!” Billy says glancing over at you to see how you would react to him ordering for you. You watch the ageing waitress take your menus and walk back to the front of the diner to get your order.

“You’re acting weird Billy. You’re not high, are you?” You ask analysing Billy’s facial expression.

“Jesus Y/N, Seriously? No, I’m not high I just enjoy a slice of pie sometimes” Billy huffs and slouches down in the booth

“Okay I don’t see you like this often is all” You say quietly afraid to speak any louder

“Like what?” Billy asks as he picks at his fingernails.

“Happy I guess” You say as Billy glances up from his fingers.

“I guess not. I suppose I should start from the beginning then?” Billy sits up and leans his arms on the table in front of you.

“The reason I was awake tonight was because of Max but not because she woke me up getting a snack.” Billy pauses and sighs deeply fixating on his fingers as he continues to pick at the skin around them. You notice his finger is bleeding and so you reach over and place your hand on his to stop him from pulling at the skin anymore. “I always wake up when I hear her because if I hear her getting up chances are so can Neil and I would rather him hit me than her.” Billy looks up at you as you process what he has said.

“Jesus…”

“Two slices of pie and two cups of coffee…Enjoy!” The waitress places the plates of pie and coffee in front of you both and walks away before you can thank her.

“I don’t want your sympathy Y/N that’s not why I am telling you this. I’m telling you this because I don’t want to get anyone else hurt…especially not you. The reason I haven’t asked you to out on a date is that if he knows he will hurt you and I’m not risking that okay…” Billy’s voice weakens. You pull your hand back to allow him to eat.

“I’m guessing you won’t appreciate me saying I can stick up for myself?” You ask taking a chunk of apple pie on to your fork. Billy looks up towards you taking a bite of apple pie.

“No you’re right I won’t. He is not someone to mess with Y/N and I would prefer not to get you involved so don’t go causing trouble for me! Now you know why I was up I want to know why you were up?” You take a sip of your coffee before answering.

“Fine but just know I’m always here for you Billy whether you like it or not!” You sigh taking another sip from your coffee “I don’t even know what started it but I got into bed and instantly started overthinking everything I have done over the past few months. The fight with Carol and Tommy, everything going on with us and college acceptance. I just went spiraling into a black hole of dread. It’s stupid I know but I just feel so lost with everything right now.” You realise you are slumped over the table and sit back into the booth seat. You feel nervous telling Billy this, but he had just opened up so much to you and you felt you could do the same with him.

“Talk about existential dread Y/N! That’s kind of a lot to be thinking about at once. Have you tried breaking it down into more thinkable chunks?” Billy reaches over to the napkin holder grabbing a napkin and placing it in front of you.

“Here! Write down everything you have been thinking about and that way you can think it through a little clearer.” Billy pushes a pen towards you and watches you as you start to write out a list of things that have been on your mind for the past few weeks

“I genuinely feel like I’m in a therapy session right now! Which I guess is a good thing” You laugh as Billy pretends to be offended.

“Wow, comparing me to a therapist I don’t know how I feel about that.” Billy grins at you as you look up from your list.

“Okay so far I have four things and well I guess I can cross of the you and me thing since you don’t want to date. Unless you want to date in secret. That’s ridiculous though. I guess all I have left is my parents, college and the fight” You say marking out Billy’s name on the napkin. You look up after a second realising Billy hasn’t said anything yet. When you see Billy’s facial expression you can't help but laugh.

“What? Why are you looking at me with that weird face?” You both laugh

“Sorry, just something you said about secret dating. That’s a wild thought” You watch as Billy takes the final bite of pie and pushes his plate away

“What?” He asks crumbs falling from his mouth.

“Are you going to continue that thought or just not expand on it?” You take another bite as Billy takes a large mouthful of coffee

“Right sorry, I just think it’s an odd and fascinating idea. Imagine us trying to date in secret! Ridiculous ” Billy laughs as you think about the possibility.

“I mean it would solve a lot of issues but yeah it’s kind of ridiculous. What do I do with the other three things on this stupid list!” You grab the napkin and crumple it in your hand.

“This is pointless. It’s not like we can both instantly solve the fact that my parents obsess over my life, or the fact that I won’t get into any college I applied to” You shake your head placing it in your hands letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Woah! That was quite the outburst Y/N! I know for a fact that you are going to get into a big college, leave Hawkins behind and start a life wherever you go. You're going to end up with the dream boyfriend who you will eventually settle down with, get married and have kids. The white picket fence…you get what I’m saying. You’re too smart to stay in Hawkins.

“Yeah and that’s what I’m afraid of Billy. I don’t want to go to college, met the dream guy, settle down a month after graduating, getting married, having kids and the white picket fence. That’s not me and I don’t think it ever will be me. College is something I want to do but settling down is just too permanent. I want to be able to explore the world a little before all of that” You feel all previous anxieties wash away as you let out your fears to Billy.

“So that’s what’s been bothering you? Why didn’t you say so? Look no one is forcing you to go to college and settle down immediately. I mean I’m not that great of an example clearly but just do what you want. In twenty years’ time, you will regret it if you don’t.” Billy stops talking to take a mouthful of coffee allowing you to think about what he had said.

Of course, Billy was right, but it didn’t help the unease you felt about the entire thing. You hated the thought of settling down so young, but you hoped that once you moved out of Hawkins things would be different.

“I guess you’re right. I guess I’m a little worried about the consequences of not doing what my parents want me to do.”

“It’s in the future you don’t have to worry about it right now. For all, you know things might be completely different in 24 hours let alone a year or two. If you’re finished let's head out before Neil discovers I’m not in the house.” You watch as Billy shimmies out of the booth stretching as he stands up. You follow suit and stand up felling your legs stiffen. You look at the clock and realise you had been there for almost an hour.

You both walk up to the counter and pay the waitress for your food. Billy offers to pay but you manage to drop a twenty down before he can even slip his hand into his pocket. You both thank the waitress and walk out into the cool air.

“Fuck being the person people expect of you and be the person you want to be. It’s worked out okay for me so far” Billy smiles at you as you open the passenger side door to get into the car.

“Yeah look how well that’s been working out for me Billy! First, we both had an argument, then I get into a punch up with Carol and Tommy and then even though we both like each other we can’t date because your dad is a shitty person. Even though I’m myself my life is still as fucked as ever” You sigh slouching down into the seat. Billy reaches over placing his hand on your knee causing you to look at him.

“Look I get it. Life is shit and all that, but you know you need to find something that keeps you going. For me I have a few things one being my car and as sad and soppy as this may sound, you’re the other thing. You have helped me in more ways than you think, and I thank whoever blessed me with your presence. You know I would drop everything to date you but I’m not risking it Y/N. He is not someone to be messed with and I hope you understand that. I don’t want to risk getting your hurt thanks to my selfishness. You will figure things out and I will be here as your friend to help you out too!” Billy takes his hand off your knee and places it back on the steering wheel turning the key causing the engine to come alive.

“Fine but you better get used to seeing this dinner cause that was some good apple pie and I expect to be brought here regularly!” You both laugh as Billy reverses out of the parking lot.

“Sounds like a deal to me princess!”

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 @an-antisocial-writer @charmed-asylum @takemepedropascal​ @technolilly​ @multifandomgirl16​ @dreamin-of-dacre​ @1998–js

[nofliight]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

tagged by: stole it from @sternenteile​ and honestly others tbh tagging: TAKE

my muse is:  canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [ for better or for worse, he’s THE face of kid icarus, after all. he’s a dork and funny and likeable and even if the fandom tends to get him WRONG (thanks smash bros) there’s no denying his popularity ]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. [ i don’t??? think so??? most people are too busy talking about how they think he’s like 5 ]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. [ EVEN THE FANDOM AIN’T GONNA MESS THIS UP. MAN FIGHTS GODS. CALL THAT WEAK. ]

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK. [ make no mistake - pit’s got fans and plenty of them but he’s so MISTREATED by the fandom. his character is a lot more complex than he gets credit for and smash bros in particular is a big reason people think he’s just Big Dumb Baby Man ]

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO. [ HE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER, THE CENTRAL FIGURE UPON WHOM THE NARRATIVE IS STRUCTURED AROUND, YEAH HE’S PRETTY RELEVANT. Uprising is literally made to tell the story of a war exclusively through the perspective of a single side and Pit (and Palutena) are the EMBODIMENT of that whole side. ]

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [ and a perfect one at that. he’s literally a perfect protagonist don’t tell me i’m wrong cause i’m not ]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [ pit is beloved by humans... and mocked by the Gods. seen by most as a spineless extension of palutena’s will, most “respect” of any variety goes to palutena while he gets treated as a joke 99% of the time... and it’s not like Palutena gets too much respect either ]

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. (????) [ Uhhhhhh... it’s an odd one. Short answer is that Pit’s a good samaritan who’s done a lot of good BUT most of the gods think protecting humanity is a Folly and a Joke and that Pit’s just a pawn of Palutena’s and while the humans do hold a lot of respect for him, uh............. let’s just say, some humans on the surface have reasons not to be too happy with him. ]

How strictly do you follow canon?  —  about as much as I need to to respect one of my favorite video games of all time. while kid icarus uprising is a comedic game most of the way through it has a lot more nuance and depth to itself, its world, and its characters than one can see at first glance, even after a full playthrough. if you let yourself get invested in the characters, take a closer look at the dialogue it provides, and acknowledge the central, core storytelling message of the game for what it is, there’s a lot more to pull out than one would think. that being said, it’s still a comedic video game and one that I think could use some more expansion. though the game is inconsistent there seems to be the consensus that pit is like a child and I’m not into that, mine’s a bit more showing in his cynical and snarky side after all he’s been through and overall there’s a lot of expansion on the base while building it into something unique.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  imagine your typical bootstrapped anime protagonist. someone who, when younger, was a runt who couldn’t meet the expectations of others, was looked down on, and found himself crushed and hurt and near-killed by a great tragedy that he was forced to claw his way out of to make himself stronger. Now imagine all of that with a character who comes out still able to have a very real smile and ultimately comes out of it a self-assured, chipper goofball with a good heart. now put that together with all of the darkness and depth you would have expected to be there, but scattered realistically throughout the attitude of someone who does genuinely want to keep a positive attitude. someone who is sincerely an optimist who’s grown past his weaker days, but isn’t quite so simple as he’d like to believe. all of that combined with someone who can’t read, is willing to eat ice cream off the floor in times of duress, is extremely easy to fluster and can channel his goddess’ power to slay GODS? you got one strong man.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  —  his positive attitude is what most people will see when speaking to him, because for what it’s worth, he’s not actively lying about his depth. he’s a cheerful, jovial man with a big smile and a love of the world around him - which is all well and good, but his depth is something you have to find, even if it is reasonably clear if you’re willing to look. he’s also portrayed as a bit unreasonably dumb at times, and though I personally justify the worst of it with proper explanations, I can understand reducing some of the value of the character in favor of seeing all of his Jokes

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  i made my original pit blog, flightlesswarrior, on a total whim after playing kid icarus uprising. cute character, fun premise, why not? but over time, and with numerous plots I was able to take part in exploring the serious, not so serious, shipping, tragedy, and going back through the game to keep my muse rolling, it occurred to me more and more with time just how nuanced and interesting pit and co. really are. pit embodies many of the things i really, truly love in a protag, falling firmly on the side of good, having a heart of genuine gold, and having nuances and parts of his personality that are less than savory without making him seem like a contradiction. he’s got depth, he’s got story, there’s a lot to explore and flesh out... and he’s also just a nice, friendly guy who gets along well with others. plus, i’m drawn to dorks.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  a) love for Kid Icarus: Uprising. a game that helped me gain a deeper and more insightful understanding of character development, subtle storytelling, optimism still tinged with legitimate and healthy cynicism, and overall something that changed my understanding of character development and storytelling forever. and b) spite. the fandom treats him like an idiot baby and smash DOES NOT help matters so i have to remind others that he is a veteran of a war, a socially inept loser with few real friends, and someone who’s kindness and optimism was shaped and molded by its hardships in a way that doesn’t require a near-breaking point or a reminder that “this guy could be evil you know” to show how someone can still keep a positive attitude in spite of all the shit life throws at him.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO [ i’d like to think i have?? but i also acknowledge that he’s become something of his Own in some ways that do intentionally diverge from sakurai’s intentions. ultimately though, even though i may not play him completely true to text, i try to be as loyal as i can be to the spirit of the character. ]

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO / SORT OF? [ when i can!! but??? the problem is my mind really, really likes to reiterate the Same Damn Points i have to make with characters that draws me to them - and you know, writing the same hcs over and over is generally considered poor form?? ngl i also prefer to let the writing do the talking unless it’s something that’s not gonna show so 90% of the time pit’s open enough that all but the darker sides of his mind are lain out before you. ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO [ maybe??? once or tWICE???? but i need to write more ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO [ I REALLY DO, HOO MAMA. i have a lot of thoughts about him, his depth, potential relationships, goofy thoughts, more serious fanfic ideas im never gonna write and don’t get me started on how many SHIPS i have to think about for him ]

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO [ my portrayal is made out of spite for portrayals in the fandom and some supplementary material that gets him wrong - it’s kinda hard to do that without the confidence ]

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / ??? [ it’s uhh........ complicated??? i don’t think writing is my expertise, tbh. but it is the best way i have to show the passion i have for characters, by putting their nuances into actions, by allowing them to shine from who they are their core, by exploring relationships and scenarios and struggles and hope and everything that can flesh a character out. whether or not i’m a good writer is something i’m still sorting out - but i’m proud of my ability to develop a character, and to that end i feel like i’m doing fine ]

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO. / SORTA. [ on one hand......... very. i have a tendency to overthink everything i do and look back at moments i made an ass of myself that keep haunting me throughout my day - they haunt me. i only have two fears: what my immediate friend group thinks of me and the crushing existential weight of worrying one day i’m gonna ruin everything i am SOFT. that being said, i’m also hardheaded and stubborn and i’m not afraid to go off on someone i don’t have much respect for if it comes down to it. i’m easy to anger when it comes down to it you know i guess that proves the point huh i’m not stonefaced at all ]

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  i try to? it’s a bit touchy for me I admit just because I do take portrayals and try to make them my own, but i am willing to listen if someone has any points they’d like to make that i haven’t acknowledged properly. if criticism IS had, lemme know, i do wanna hear it!

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —   Y  E  S

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  not that everyone who disagrees with my opinions has to explain themselves of course, but i do sincerely like the chance to learn if something i’m doing doesn’t quite feel right. even if it’s one-sided and i’ll come to disagree, i’m happy to listen! even if i don’t agree with the disagreement head-on, i like to keep them in mind and see what i can shift around to acknowledge them if necessary

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  — neutral?? i mean don’t be mean about it, but if you just think my pit doesn’t seem right or it doesn’t click right with your muse i’m not gonna throw a fit about it. everyone’s allowed to view a character in their own way - and even if i may get salty about those who oversimplify him, it IS anyone’s right to view him how they will.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  — agree to disagree tbh. i can’t pretend it wouldn’t disappoint me, but it’s not like, worth ending a friendship over or anything. everyone’s got their own viewpoints to run on

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  —  sure, within reason! i take pride in my grammar but i know that with my fast typing and often running on only a few hours of sleep some problems do slip in through the cracks. while i generally either catch them or just Die with them i’m all ears if i mess up

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  uhhhhhhhhhh well i’m?? kind of a socially anxious mess honestly which DOES make being easy going a bit difficult BUT i do try and be friendly and sociable as i....... can. i’m too scared to talk to people and CAN say some dumb things but i’m not a hardass or anything!! i like to talk and Yell and shitpost and pretty much do anything but write tbh DHFLKSJDF

[multimetaverse]

Andi Mack 3x18 Review

Something To Talk A-Boot was a pretty good ep that was surprisingly fillery and made apparent the cracks in the show’s writing. Let’s dig in!

We got some great Tyrus scenes that more than made up for the crappy writing we’ve seen the last two Tyrus eps. For once they got to end on a happy note which was much appreciated. We returned to the same fun and flirty dynamic we saw before costume day and it’s like that whole mess never happened (which I’ll discuss more in the negatives). 

We’re back to the confident and flirty TJ we had been seeing up until costume day and it’s good that the show has abandoned it’s incredibly ill advised and poorly done internalized homophobia story line which is necessary because Tyrus can’t canon in the finale if TJ and Cyrus aren’t both comfortable with themselves and with each other. Luckily for the show, most of the audience will never know what the hell was going on with TJ in eps 13 and 15 and will just ignore it as bad writing. 

Lot’s of completely unnecessary touching between Tyrus in this ep like holding on to each others shoulders after the verdict and TJ tapping Cyrus as he was putting his seat belt on. I was pleasantly surprised by the full on hug we got; I didn’t think Terri would get a hug approved in this ep and be able to get hand holding approved in the finale but looks like she pulled it off. It made for a rare rule of three for Cyrus as we saw three increasingly gay hugs between him and TJ this season. I loved the whole you’ll visit me on the inside bit, that’s the kind of thing only couples say. 

Man was that Tyrus golf cart scene ever romantic. Just pure flirty fluff and it was wonderful to see. Really the only reason TJ stole the golf cart again and drove off to find Cyrus was to flirt with him. It’s the closest a show with 14 year olds can get to a classic drive off into the sunset ending. Has there ever been a better nerd/jock ship? The golf cart scene was a perfect encapsulation of their dynamic and showed such growth on Cyrus’ part from the scared kid who couldn’t imagine breaking the rules to the more confident self TJ has helped him become. It’s a bittersweet thought but even though a good chunk if not most of the audience still thinks Tyrus is a friendship or one sided crush, everyone who ever starts the show after the finale will know that Tyrus is a romantic relationship and for them subtext will be text from the very start. 

I think it was very deliberate that all of TJ’s scenes were at the school, we needed to see him interacting like normal with Cyrus at the place they’ll spend most of their time. This ep really was in many ways a glimpse of what canon Tyrus will be like after they get together and come out to the world; supportive, flirty, comfortable.

They really took advantage of Luke being 17 and a good driver. I wonder if ‘leggo’’ was in the script or if that was a Luke ad lib.

This was the last confirmed ep they ever filmed at the school and there’s an extremely good chance that the very wholesome and very gay Tyrus golf cart scene was the last scene we’ll ever see at the school. Which is a hell of a way to say goodbye to the school. 

We got just under 5 minutes of Tyrus screen time and just over 5 and a half minutes of total TJ screen time this ep (excluding TJ cheering in the stands). This is the most he’s had since 3x06 and may actually be the most he’s had or will have all season. And this was more Tyrus screen time than we’ve had in 3x11, 3x13, and 3x15 combined which is a damning indictment of Disney’s censorship. Partly this was likely because the writers were trying to pad his screen time a bit since he was originally supposed to be gone for 3 eps in a row instead of 2. Funnily enough, because his story line was left intact even with the cut ep and re-shoots it now looks as though he may actually get a little more screen time in these final 7 eps than Marty does.

It’s impressive too because all of TJ’s scenes were filmed over two days; it makes such a difference when they’re actually allowed to have him on set for more than one day and that they let Luke and Josh actually have scenes together and took advantage of them being older and able to work longer hours.

This ep really built TJ’s character back up and it’s easy to see that the writers knew they had to get the audience back on TJ’s side and remind them of his and Cyrus’ dynamic especially since he was supposed to have been gone for 3 eps in a row instead of 2. 

Josh did a great job hamming it up at the trial. Loved the ‘’you’re showboating’’ ‘’thank you for noticing your honour’’ bit. And Cyrus adding ‘’sir’’ when he was pretending to respond to himself from the witness box was good too. Love that Cyrus took the time to change back into a suit before hearing the verdict.

It makes such a difference for Cyrus’ character is TJ is in an ep or not and I don’t even mean from a shipping perspective. In non TJ eps Cyrus is almost always reduced to therapist friend or comic relief, when TJ is an ep he usually gets to be an active character and actually get to do things. 

We had Buffy saying he used to be the worst and is now the best and Cyrus taking credit for seeing the good in him which was a nice reminder of the amazing growth TJ has had. And of course, there was no real reason to have TJ be the one to help Buffy get to class except to make him look good in the audience’s eyes.

I know a lot of people wanted to see more of Buffy and TJ’s friendship but I’m fine with their brief interactions. The only reason he had so much time with her in S2 and why the end of S2 set up a friendship between them was because Garren had left and they didn’t know they could get him back.

Such great growth on Buffy’s part from the girl who wouldn’t even pass the baton to her team mates back in S1. The Spikes have largely been treated as a joke but we really saw a great dynamic between them and Buffy tonight; they all felt like a real team for the first time ever. And it was interesting seeing Buffy’s room and seeing her doing normal teen stuff with people outside of the GHC. Glad the Spikes got a win and glad Buffy was able to bounce back from her injury and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. 

Very sweet last scene between Jonah and Amber, it was a nice call back to 2x01 when Amber confided in Jonah about her family’s money problems. It was messy but they did help and support each other. I’m happy that Jonah will now be in a more secure place. 

This was also the last confirmed ep they filmed at the Spoon and Jonah watching Amber get him a milkshake is a sweet way to say goodbye to a location that was almost a character in and of itself. We also got to see one last glimpse of the ginger waitress who we’ve seen in a couple of eps.

I liked that Jonah pointed out how well the GHC know each other; he’s a part of the friend group but he’s always stood apart from the GHC itself. 

I also liked that Jonah didn’t know what an existential crisis was. Always funny when they lean into dumb Jonah. 

Jonah and Andi had a sweet scene; glad he’s self aware enough to know he’s not a good advice giver. Liked the callback to Jonah scaring Andi. 

Bex is doing her best. Andi is definitely reacting like a teen. 

No Kira this ep which was great.

Shout out to the FBI and SLPD for shrinking the gap between TJ’s appearances. As much as cutting Ham has ended up damaging the other story lines it will definitely make Cyrus’ story line age much better. Having TJ be gone for 3 eps in a row only to come back after the wedding and only being able to have this kind of screen time and nice scenes after the wedding is so transparent that even kids would have noticed why that was.

Negatives:

I plan to have a happy finale night so I’m going to get my criticism of Terri’s handling of Tyrus out of the way now. I’ve seen quite a few posts on different social media sites wondering if TJ was in the cut ep and that’s why Kira isn’t mentioned or if there were cut Tyrus scenes but the plain simple truth is that this is just bad writing, some of the worst Terri has done. It’s not a satisfying explanation but it’s reality. 

I’d like to hear Terri one day explain what she thought she was going to accomplish with this internalized homophobia plot line on a show with so many restrictions and with an audience that doesn’t know TJ is gay. I don’t think there is a good explanation but I would like to know what the hell she was thinking. She’s always shown such care with the gay story line and to just drop the ball so badly when the show is almost done is more sad than anything else. Thank god Disney let her have canon Tyrus in the finale.

It’s clear from the writing of S3 that they knew from the very start that Tyrus couldn’t canon until the finale, if at all. It’s been nothing but drama that keeps them apart up until now: Buffy is still kind of mad at TJ, Reed had a gun, Jonah is mad at TJ, Bubbe Rose dies, Kira comes in. TJ isn’t even involved with the Spikes after 3x04 and barely had any scenes with Buffy and he hasn’t had a single scene with Jonah since so it’s not like those plots were meant to have an impact. And Terri would have known that TJ could only be in 9 eps max this season and she was the one who cast a 14 year old to play Kira, knowing that Raquel just wouldn’t be able to be on set nearly as long as Luke which of course she did because she knew it didn’t matter how old she was because Kira and TJ would have limited screen time anyways. And she would have known that the look back had been edited to make it look like TJ was straight and yet she still went ahead. 

Honestly, Terri is lucky that most of the audience will never know that TJ was supposed to be struggling with his sexuality in 3x13-3x15 because if they did this story line would come off as much worse than it does for them. I can buy that she wouldn’t have known how far she could go with canon Tyrus until close to the finale itself but that just makes her decisions even more baffling. If she ends up being able to have a textual ending then she has to have TJ be confident or it just won’t make sense. But if Disney said no to canon Tyrus then there’s no way they would have let her properly explore an internalized homophobia arc anyways which makes it all pointless. 

Now that we’ve seen up until 18 we can see just how defensive Terri’s instagram post back in November about not complaining about Disney censorship or queerbaiting was. At the time all she had actually accomplished was Cyrus saying the word gay which was historic and wonderful but only one ep. There’s obvious censorship by Disney and it would have been even more apparent if it wasn’t for Stoney’s arrest. And up until now there’s really nothing differentiating  Tyrus from queerbaiting as Cyrus hasn’t even been able to say he has a crush on TJ. I know she’ll do a good job with Tyrus in the finale but I really hope she doesn’t do something egregiously bad with Kira’s ‘redemption’

It doesn’t make sense that no one would mention Kira. We had TJ scenes over 4 days in universe and no Kira in sight. So either she’s not clinging to him or he told her off. It’s all just so her appearance at the party can make Cyrus flee to the bench for one last bit of contrived drama. 

We finally ended the very poorly plotted Jamber arc. It’s clear that they first decided to get Jamber back together, likely to keep Jandi apart and as a shocking twist, and then worked backwards from there to figure out how to make it plausible and settled on Jonah also having financial issues. The problem being is that those financial problems were largely ignored and we never got an in depth exploration of Jonah or Amber’s psychology. It’s not like they didn’t have time for it since Amber set a new record for recurring characters, excepting S2 Bowie. It’s hard to say Amber has had a true arc over the series. She definitely got nicer but we’ve only really gotten character development from her these past couple of eps. She’s in the same place she was back in 2x01, newly broken up with Jonah, with parents who fight, and forced to work at the Spoon to help support her family. 

Loved that the Spikes were watching footage of their game with the Spartans, which hadn’t happened yet, at their sleep over. Back in the S2 finale when Buffy announced that she was founding a girls team I never imagined that they would be written as a joke and barely shown. I’d guess that was another casualty of them being able to get Marty back for S3.

Looking Ahead:

I’m a lot more content with the show ending after S3 after seeing these recent eps. There’s been way too much filler and a lot of bizarre decisions. Yes the cut ep and the re-shoots hurt a lot of plots but it doesn’t seem like the originals were all that much better. It’s clear that the Muffy plot in 3x17 ended after the bowling alley and Amber’s plot ended with her leaving Cyrus’ house which means that Marty went with Buffy as her date to the wedding in the original 3x18 only to friendzone her and tell her to get her foot checked. And Amber still went with Jonah even though she knew he had been lying to her and they only broke up at the wedding. I’m sure the Mack family A plot would have been great but the B and C plots look like they would have sucked. 

Terri’s never had a show that went beyond 2 seasons and I think in some ways she struggled with plotting out 21 eps worth of story lines. Better to end now when the show will go down as historic then drag it down in a potential S4. And better for Terri’s reputation as well, she gets to end the show as a visionary whereas if we got a S4 she’d likely end up with more of a Michael Jacob’s type reputation. 

Also this ep shows that any hope for seeing canon Tyrus in S4 was just a dream. Disney is clearly only willing to let things get textual in the finale itself. Even Mack Chat didn’t mention Cyrus once tonight despite him having a big role in the ep. An odd game Disney plays with showing the bench scene in promos but not letting Mack Chat get too gay. 

New finale promo sheds a little more light on things. Two Cyrus waving scenes, probably one is before the bench scene and one is after. Bench scene starts with some extras near the fire and once they leave is when things get textual. TJ and Marty will probably have an interaction after both Tyrus and Muffy canon. Looks like there doing something with Jandi but again I don’t think we get canon Jandi, just something ambiguous. Bowie and Bex dancing in the back ground, Bowie in his dad’s tux and Bex possibly in her wedding dress. Obviously they’re already married but it’s probably them re-creating the wedding they had planned for but didn’t end up having.

Next ep is one with a ton of re-shoots and should feature the new wedding. We’ll see how smooth it is. My one hope is that we get some word that Jonah has told his parents about his panic attacks, even if it’s off screen. 

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG Day 5: Nyr

Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @clocksandchaos, @maple-writes, @rhikasa (also thanks for Guin!), @onceuponanaromantic, @nightskywriter, @pied-piper-of-hamlet, and @spacebrick3 for Snow!

I tensed when I heard movement through the trees. It wasn’t even sunrise yet, and Yana was sleeping.

But I didn’t have to worry. It was just Guin. She smiled at me and sat down next to me. “I decided to check on all of the groups to make sure they were doing okay, and I thought it would be best to check while most people are still asleep.”

I nodded. “Well, thanks. We’re doing fine.”

“And why are you awake? Have you been keeping watch all night?”

I nodded. “Why not? I’m used to being awake a lot longer anyway.”

She frowned. “But you need your sleep too. Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

I shook my head. “I’m not. I just want to protect anyone I can.” I clenched my fists. “And there are so many that I wasn’t able to protect. It’s not fair.”

She laughed. “Well, you should get some sleep. I’ll keep watch. Surely, the other groups can wait for a couple hours.”

“No. That’s not fair. You should go check to see if they need any help.”

“But I think this group needs my help the most. I heard some whispers that you were hurt yesterday. Do you need help?”

I instinctively turned away from her. It was just a knife slash to my side. I was handling it well. There were just some tributes who didn’t want anything to do with escaping the arena. “I also heard that your magic drains you. I’m not going to let you tire yourself for me.”

She shook her head with a smile and pulled out some clean bandages from her pack. “How did I know you were going to say that? Let me clean your wound and bandage it again, please.”

I tensed as she walked toward me, but I held up my shirt enough to reveal the makeshift bandage I had put over it. She scoffed and got to work. I stayed tense, even though it was such a kind touch. My parents hadn’t been this concerned about me in years. I wasn’t used to it.

She glanced up at me as she kept cleaning my wound. “I’ll be getting rid of my tracker today. That will leave you and now two others.” She glanced over at Yana, who was still sleeping even as the sun rose. “When are you planning on taking it out?”

I looked away from her with a frown. “I don’t know if I will,” I mumbled.

She frowned. “What? Why not?”

I swallowed hard, but I trusted her enough to explain. “I was sent to Panem as a representative of my people. If I show that I willingly joined a rebellion, the Capitol will retaliate on my people. They’ll all die if I make one wrong step. It was a risk joining this group, but I can at least give an excuse that you made me join. I won’t be able to run away from Panem like you will after this. I have to stay and do what they want so they will leave my people alone.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. She was going to say how stupid of an excuse that was. There was  a pause before she responded. “I understand. And it’s a noble cause. Protect everyone you can, dear. That means yourself too.” I looked at her with wide eyes, and she smiled at me. “Done. I’ll be heading out. I think I’ve done everything I can here.”

I didn’t really understand what she meant. How could I protect myself when doing that would hurt my people? At least she had given me something to think about.

 I messed with my pair of knives as I waited for everyone to escape safely. Tara, The Chronicler, and Adri called everyone together so that we could escape. I watched the group as people started to leave. I would wait and make sure that everyone was safe as they left. Yana and Indigo decided to stay as well, but they had gone off somewhere.

There was a rustle of leaves, and I tensed as someone walked out of the foliage. Everyone else was farther up, not in eyesight, but still.

It was Snow. She had a haunted look in her eyes. I frowned. I had heard Begonia talk about the memorial he found today. I had to try to recruit her. I had to do anything I could. For Begonia’s sake. He cared about her.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to relax and look unthreatening. “Snow? Would you like to join us? We’re escaping from the arena right now. You’d be able to escape safely without the Capitol seeing you. We hacked into the cameras around the arena. You’d be safe.” I tried to sound as nice as I could. Come on. She had to join. Begonia would be so happy.

She shook her head. “No.”

I frowned. What did she want? “I—what? What do you mean, no?”

That haunted look hadn’t left her eyes. “No. I don’t care. I don’t want any part of it. Fight your own fight somewhere else.”

I stared straight in her eyes. “You’ll die if you stay.” Snow nodded. I hissed out a breath. “Listen, I know you have something to go back to, because we all do. You really want to throw that away—throw them away?”

“Snow was the doctor, and she’s dead. Zoe Hopewell is the killer, and she didn’t even last a day. What is there left now? What will I be when I go back to District 8?”

Crap. This wasn’t the time for an existential crisis. “Sounds to me like you’ve got something of a blank slate, then.”

She tried to square her shoulders, but they just fell back down. “Listen, I killed someone. I threw away everything I was and then, just to be sure, I threw that person away too. That can’t be meaningless! If I survive—if I join this wild, reckless plan, then what was it all for?”

Well, that made up my mind. She had to see that Begonia was alive. I sighed and crossed my arms. “…alright then.” I allowed a smirk to tug at my lips. “Let’s pretend this is the real Games. The funny thing about that is, you don’t particularly get a choice in what happens to you.” I slipped a knife into my hand and aimed it at her. All my training to fight against Panem had to amount to something. “If it helps, I can say I’m sorry about this.”

The first spark of life lit up her eyes as fear flooded them. So, she didn’t really want to die. “Wait—”

I threw the knife, and the hilt slammed into her forehead. I grinned. Perfect. Begonia shouldn’t be too far away yet.

I grabbed her shoulders and dragged her into the hole Tara had made. I left her there as I asked someone to at least disable her tracker without cutting it out and then searched for Begonia.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

Thanks for the prompt, anon! I have to say, I’m not really much of a smut writer so this fic is far from explicit. It’s definitely more implied. But I hope you like it anyway! Thanks again for the prompt and people should send me more prompts because I want to write more for this pairing so thanks!

They all go back to the Byers’ because it’s late and there’s the smell of rain on the lazy summer breeze and because El keeps sniffing and rubbing at her nose with the heel of her hand and Joyce keeps her wobbly lips pressed together in a thin line and keeps saying at random intervals “it’s okay” even though no one is asking and no one believes her. And because Nancy thinks it goes without saying that no one really wants to be alone right now. 

Her body is tired. It’s sore. It’s hurting in ways that had previously gone unrealized because there hadn’t been time to sit and think and catalog. But now, sitting in the backseat of the car with Joyce driving, Nancy doesn’t have anything to do but sit and think and her body feels like one giant bruise that someone can’t stop poking. But her mind won’t shut up. It won’t rest, even though that’s all she’s wanted for the past several hours. For the past few days. She just wants to sleep, like she had been doing that night that the power went out and she didn’t have any understanding of rats eating fertilizer and people turning into a giant monster made of literal flesh. 

Rather than try and close her eyes and coax herself into sleep, Nancy just rests her forehead on the window, watching the blurry dark of Hawkins pass by. 

Everyone is crammed into the car so Jonathan’s thigh is pressing against hers and between him and the car door, Nancy has little room to maneuver, not that she minds. On Jonathan’s other side, there’s Mike and El and Nancy tries to focus on those things, the few little details that could possibly bring her comfort right now when she hurts and she’s tired and all she wants to do is close her eyes and imagine all this away. Her brother is safe. Jonathan is too. Nancy figures that she can count on those things to help her keep her hands steady enough to start putting the pieces of this shattered night back together. 

Finally Joyce pulls into the driveway of the house and it’s dark, the porch light trying its vaillant best to welcome them back with a weak glow. Will gets out of the front seat to go around and open the back of the car for everyone else and it almost strikes Nancy as funny, how everyone sort of tumbles out of the back like they’re in a sort of clown car but she swallows her impulse to laugh. It’s easy enough, looking at the weary faces of the kids who used to be the bane of her existence when they were all younger and they thought the greatest thing in the world was sneaking around and trying to read her diary or otherwise annoy her. 

They move silently into the house, weary soldiers, and Joyce methodically goes through all the rooms, switching on every single light. It might be dark outside but there’s an artificial day inside the Byers’ home and Nancy tries to take comfort in that. Even if the house itself, and the memories that come with it, aren’t exactly comforting. At least, over the past few months, she’s been able to make new memories here: family dinners with Joyce and Will and Jonathan or board games that no one really liked to play but Will but somehow his excitement made them almost fun. Or nights spent with Jonathan, when they thought they were being sneaky and quiet as they laughed and whispered under his covers or when they learned new ways to understand and orient themselves to one another's bodies. 

This will just be one other memory to add to the “bad” column: all these tired and hurt faces and the things that aren’t being said. The names they aren’t being mentioned. Max, who keeps working her thumbnail between her teeth, looking skittish in the glowing lights of the living room. And El, who hasn’t said anything to anyone. 

The younger kids get the living room, with Joyce talking enough for all of them, trying to fill the space and just making the silence echo even more. She lays down pillows and blankets, making a pallet and seemingly unable to keep her hand from lighting bird-like across the tops of everyone’s heads, like she needs the continual reassure that they’re all still there. 

Robin and Steve get pointed in the direction of Will’s room, already bickering about who will take the bed and who gets the floor, volleying arguments back and forth at one another in a way that does more to lighten the mood than Joyce’s nonsense chatter ever could. Nancy feels her lips twitch into a small as she watches them, wishing that the rumors that she’d heard about Robin weren’t true, if only so Steve could find someone that made him forget things for a least a little while. 

All the nights that she’s snuck into Jonathan’s room, either through his window or down the hallway in the dark, her feet trained to know which spots on the floor creaked, don’t seem to matter much anymore because no one, not even Joyce, gives them a second glance when Nancy follows Jonathan to his room. Maybe the rules are different. Maybe things like maintaining a facade stopped mattering when rats started eating chemicals and crawling into old ladies’ basements. 

Jonathan eases the door closed behind them and locks it, though Nancy doesn’t know if that’s out of habit or some misguided idea that doing so is going to keep them safe against whatever might still be lurking out there. 

Nancy doesn’t want to think about that. Doesn’t want to think about the uselessness of locked doors or parents who can’t really protect you or small towns that are supposed to be safe and the rules that she’d thought she could count on. Instead, she wants to pretend like the lock on the door will make a difference. That there’s someone out there who can keep her safe. That she doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore except coming up with a convincing lie about where she’s been, if her parents were to ask in the morning. 

Instead, Nancy sits on the edge of Jonathan’s bed, feeling out of place and awkward, like she isn’t familiar with the space, isn’t comfortable with every inch of the room the way that she’s comfortable with every inch of the person who inhabits it. The fight that she had with Jonathan doesn’t matter anymore, if it ever really did, and Nancy doesn’t feel like they have to do that dance around each other, that what-are-we-now-I-didn’t-really-mean-I-still-care-about-you dance that she would have demanded self-righteously from him just twenty-four hours ago.

Nancy feels like the uncomfortable uncertainty that she feels settling over her shoulders comes more from herself and how she’s not entirely sure how to feel in her own body anymore. How everything still has that heightened-sharpened quality and how she aches all the way down to her toes and how her skin feels too tight and her eyes too dry and her heart suddenly too weak. 

Jonathan does what Joyce had done, switching on every lamp in the bathroom, before turning to face Nancy and she can feel the awkwardness in him too, the uncertainty that keeps him standing a few feet from where she sits on the edge of the bed. 

“What do we-” 

“I guess we should-” 

Just like they rushed to fill the silence at the same time, they both fall silent simultaneously, looking at one another in an encouragement to finish their statement.

“You go ahead,” Nancy says, just as Jonathan gestures at her to continue and she rolls her eyes because if she’s going to be awake all night long this is not how she’s going to spend her time. “I was just going to ask what you thought we should do now. I mean...what are we supposed to do? Just...try and go to sleep like everything is fine now? Just...pretend?” 

Jonathan shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s pretending. I think it’s just doing what we always do...keep going.” 

Nancy sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s total bullshit that this keeps happening. Like at what point do we get to have a normal year?” 

Jonathan gives her a half smile. “How about a normal life? I think we’ve had more excitement than most people.” 

Exhaling, Nancy flops onto her back, staring up at the ceiling of Jonathan’s room with her hands laced over her stomach. “As soon as I graduate, I’m getting out of this piece of shit town.” 

“Then who will be around to shoot the giant monsters?” 

Nancy knows that Jonathan means it as a joke but the idea makes her eyes wide and resigned horror settle over her like a way that makes her feel impossibly heavy. The idea that that could be her role, her purpose, for the rest of her life...it almost makes it hard to breathe.

“Hey, I was kidding,” Jonathan says quickly, sitting down on the bed beside her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t be trying to joke right now...I mean I’m not great at it under normal circumstances so…��� 

“No, you’re not,” Nancy says but there’s a hint of a smile on her face and it makes Jonathan smile too and that makes it a little easier to breathe again. “But I’ll let it slide.” 

“How generous.”

It feels as stilted as it does normal and Nancy wishes that she could hold the two halves of these things in her hands and fit them back together the way she had tried to do once, when she was ten and Mike was six and he’d broken a lamp when she was supposed to be watching him and she’d desperately tried to glue it back together before their parents got home. 

She’s having about as much success now as she had then. 

“I wish it wasn’t like this,” Nancy says quietly, closing her eyes so that she stops tracing the whorls and divets on the ceiling behind Jonathan’s head. “I wish I could stop feeling like everything in my life was just a before and an after.” 

“I think it’s always going to be like that,” Jonathan says. “With everything. All these little beginnings and endings.” 

Nancy opens her eyes, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Can we maybe save the existential conversation for tomorrow morning? Can we maybe...try the pretending thing for a while?” 

Jonathan blinks at her and she shouldn’t find his cluelessness as endearing as she does. “What do you mean?” 

“I just want to pretend it’s like it was the other day,” she says, reaching out a hand to curl around the nape of his neck. “When all we had to worry about was that shitty internship at the paper.” 

“To be fair, it wasn’t that shitty.” 

Nancy furrows her brow. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one stuck getting coffee all the-” 

Nancy forgives Jonathan for taking so long to get her point when he finally gets it and leans close enough to kiss her. And she forgives him for interrupting her because the feeling of his lips against hers still makes her feel a bit like how she imagines a star might feel: fizzy and bright and shining bright enough to be seen from millions of miles away. And it makes her feel like those two pieces of her life have snapped back into place, leaving one whole Nancy behind.

With Jonathan kissing her, with his hands on her shoulders and the curve of her neck and the small of her back, it’s easier for Nancy to believe all those things that she realized weren’t true when Barb died. With Jonathan holding her close, his breath whispering in her ear, his heart beating beneath her palm, she can believe that the world is safe, that there’s someone who will protect her so that she can lay the weight down, that the only monsters are the imagined ones under the bed that disappear when you shine a flashlight into the corners. 

Nancy pushes everything else out of her mind. She forgets that her brother is in the living room with the rest of his friends because they’re all too afraid and too sad to be alone. She forgets that people have died, that she almost died, that she nearly lost everything. She forgets that the bad things never really die or go away, that only the good people do, and that there’s nothing that can ever really be done about that. 

Instead, she pretends. 

She pretends to be just a girl, in love with a boy, living in a world where nothing is stronger than that. 

Nancy doesn’t protest when Jonathan’s fingers fumble to undress her, just lifts her hips enough to help him or pulls away long enough for them to tug their shirts over their heads and add them to the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. Nancy is certain that her skin smells of sweat and sulfur and fear and maybe even a little like that greasy mall food court smell, but with Jonathan kissing his way down her shoulders and collarbone and breasts and stomach, it’s easy to ignore all that too. It’s easy to pretend like this is the only thing her body has done, that her fingers were made only to twine in his hair or press half-moon marks into his shoulder blades. That her hands were made only to draw him closer to her. Her legs made only for him to fit between. Her skin made only to be blemished by his lips and teeth. 

The routine is normal, developed and patented and practiced over nights spent in secret, when lazy kisses and careless touching turned into more but Nancy feels like there’s never anything routine about the way Jonathan kisses her, the way his lips against hers swallows up the sounds she makes or the way that he presses his face against her shoulder so her skin can do the same. Especially now, when everything is still sharp and heightened and her body aches in a decidedly more delicious way now, Nancy feels like she’s nothing more than just a girl. She never wants Jonathan to stop, to be any less close to her then he is in this moment, never wants to be without his arms around her and his lips against her skin and his weight on top of her. 

She doesn’t want the world to exist outside of this room. 

Their bodies stay tangled together, even as their movements slow and still and the only sound is Jonathan’s heavy breaths against the hollow of Nancy’s throat. Nancy closes her eyes, pressing her nose against Jonathan’s temple, breathing in the heady smells of him that make her feel safe and protected, the way his arms and weight do. Nancy threads her fingers through Jonathan’s hair and hopes that she does the same for him. 

Nancy tries to hold onto those feelings later, after they’ve untangled and she’s dressed in a tee-shirt of his that’s too big but smells like him when she presses her nose to the collar. Jonathan brings her a glass of water and a report that their brothers and the rest of the kids are asleep in the living room, even Erica, sprawled out amidst the blankets and pillows and the coffee table. 

The image makes Nancy smile around the rim of the glass and when Jonathan eases himself into bed beside her, she turns to him, tucking her body against his. The way that Jonathan’s fingers slide through her hair, tickling the nape of her neck, make Nancy’s mind feel tired in a way she had worried it never would again. Her body feels loose and heavy and instead of feeling like a bruise, she just feels like a girl who wears the memory of her boyfriend’s touch against her skin. 

“Jonathan?” 

“Hmm?” He already sounds half asleep, his chest vibrating against her ear, his lips against the crown of her head.

Nancy says, “Nothing,” because she’s not sure what she wanted to say after that, what his name was a precursor to. 

Though, she thinks, maybe there was nothing she wanted to say. Maybe she just wanted to say his name and have him answer and know, with a certainty, that he was there. Still. 

And, in a few hours, when they wake up and they have to stop pretending and she won’t be just a girl anymore and there will be a world outside of this room, Nancy knows that he’ll be there for that too. 

[sns-tropes]

heart in your hands: ch11

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6,

Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

chapter summary: on tonight's nine o'clock news: team seven has emotional constipation

pairing: sasuke/naruto (ninja!verse) post-698

rating: Mature

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: i haven't posted in forever don't hate me. this one is a little short but i'll be posting again very soon. sorry for the angst.

- jeni

Naruto blinks awake blearily. It’s a gloomy morning, there’s no sun streaming in. It might rain today. He looks to his side and Sasuke is awake, just staring at the ceiling above them quietly. Naruto doesn’t think it’s a troubled look. It seems pretty neutral. He’s aware that he maybe acted a little clingy with Sasuke last night. He was beyond exhausted, so he feels like he can’t really be held accountable for anything he said or did. Even if it might have annoyed Sasuke, he doesn’t seem bothered by it now, after everything. 

Sasuke looks like he’s thinking really hard about something. Naruto scoots closer, making Sasuke look at him. Sasuke winces a little, not quite sure if he should speak up. 

“I want to tell you something. I did something without your consent.” 

Naruto’s brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Naruto scoots in even closer, concern drawn on his expression. It’s worrisome. Everything with Sasuke is potentially worrisome.  

Sasuke’s eyes fall from Naruto’s. His intentions for this conversation are good ones. He’s trying to accomplish something here. But this is hard. This is too difficult to open the subject. Because even though they’ve got used to so much together and have experienced this new dynamic between them, there’s still a lot of things that Sasuke thinks they’re in the dark about.  

They don’t know how to do a relationship. They never knew how to anything other than fight. Everything is still new even when it’s not. But Sasuke is trying. He just doesn’t want this to go in the wrong direction. 

“I looked into your dreams the other night.” He regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. The old him would have suggested Naruto simply get over it. But things are so much different now. Naruto’s eyes widen in brief realization that Sasuke means that he saw  that  dream. Sasuke’s heart beat quickens in his chest and he’s experiencing something rare. Something that he doesn’t usually feel. He thinks it might be fear. He doesn’t have a first instinct unfortunately. He doesn’t know what Naruto is thinking. And poking around in his head any more than he already has will just make it worse.  

Naruto sits up a little away from him and looks in the other direction. Sasuke can’t tell if he’s angry or sad or what, but something in Sasuke hurts at the sight. 

“What did you see?” Naruto says numbly. 

“Enough.” 

Naruto huffs out a defeated breath, that same stress from last night radiating off of him. Sasuke eyes his prosthetic arm wrapped up in those white bandages. Naruto rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Sasuke waits. 

“It’s pathetic isn’t it?” Naruto rasps out, voice rough and thick with sleep. “You’re right here. Living in my apartment with me. And I-” Naruto closes his mouth. He stops himself. Sasuke doesn’t want to push too much. He doesn’t want to scare Naruto away. 

“You’re afraid.” Sasuke suggests softer than he’s ever spoke to him before. 

Naruto shakes his head no, eyes shut, throat tight.  

“I’m- I’m terrified.” He admits begrudgingly.  

“ Why ?” 

Naruto laughs bitterly, sounding like he’s trying not to cry. “Track record.” 

And Sasuke supposes that he’s right. That’s what Sasuke has always done. He always runs away from the things that are good for him. But he can’t even be bothered to think about himself in this moment. He’s only thinking about Naruto. He can only think of what Naruto needs. 

“Naruto-” 

“No- You don’t- You don’t have to say anything.” Naruto says decidedly. “It’s not your burden that I'm insecure. That’s not fair.” 

“It’s fair. I did this.” And Sasuke almost  wants to cry at how true that is. How he really did put those thoughts and fears in Naruto’s head. “I put that fear there.” 

“It’s not your fault I'm so dependent.” Naruto states logically. 

“I’m no better.” 

Naruto laughs again, finally looking up at Sasuke. Sasuke missed looking at them for just those few minutes.  

“You’d be fine either way.” Naruto bites out, and that hurts because it sounds like Naruto really believes that. 

And something flares up in Sasuke at the words. At first, it’s anger because that is so far from the truth. But the flame dies down a bit and it just feels like desperation. If this is what Naruto thinks of what they are then he’s so very wrong. He can’t have an emotional, existential crisis over what to say anymore. It’s just too important.  

“Naruto,” He says, voice uncharacteristically thick with emotion. “I think I would die. I would die without you. Almost did a few times.” 

Naruto just stares. He stares and searches Sasuke’s eye for even the slightest hint of deception or fallacy. Sasuke palms his face, drawing in as close as he can. He isn’t sure if kissing him is the right thing to do, but it just feels right to him. Usually Naruto is the one asking.  

“Can I?” Sasuke asks tentatively, the words foreign on his tongue. His breath ghosts gently over Naruto’s lips. Naruto lets his eyes flutter closed as he nods.  

He kisses him fully and sincerely, and they move like there was never a disagreement in the first place. But that wasn’t even what he wanted to tell him. Not really. He wanted to ask him about the field study. But now he can’t be bothered to with the feeling of their lips connecting like this. 

“I wouldn’t let you die.” Naruto mumbles. 

“I know.” Sasuke smiles against his lips. “Track record.” 

 ____________________________________________________________

Sakura comes to give him some paperwork later that day. Naruto has gone out in the heavy rain to fetch a few food items, for lack of anything to eat in the house. 

Sasuke lets her in wordlessly and she scans the place for any sign of Naruto, wondering if Sasuke has brought up the topic yet. 

He sits down at the table with her and sifts thought the standard documents, eyes briefly scanning the places where he’s meant to write things in. 

“It will be easy to clear you.” She states in a measured tone.  

“I figured.” He says, voice nonchalant.  

“You haven’t asked yet.” It’s not a question. 

Sasuke knows she doesn’t want him to leave. She doesn’t want either of them to leave. She’s not the type to feel secure without a team by her side. That’s what Sasuke knows to be true. But he can’t be sure now. He’s still getting to know this version of her after being awaay for so long.  

He doesn’t address her statement right away. He feels something twist in his gut, an apology on the tip of his tongue.  

“I’m sorry, Sakura.” 

She balks, confused as hell. 

“Huh?” 

“I’m sorry.” He says again, setting the papers down. “For everything I put you through.” 

She doesn’t say anything, eyes unreadable.  

“For hurting you.” 

“Mentally or physically?” She laughs. But it’s just not funny. How can it be? 

“Both,” He se says quietly, having no expectations from her. He just wanted to say it.  

She seems to think for a moment, not sure on what she’d like to say.  

“That was a long time ago.” She says. “It doesn’t matter now.” 

Sasuke doesn’t understand anything. He might never. In a way, He’s jealous of her. He’s jealous of her confidence, her stability, he independence, her resilience. Everything that he never thought she would live up to, but unexpectedly surpassed him despite how average he thought her to be. He was so very wrong about her. He eyes the Strength of 100 Seal on her forehead and smirks in defeat.  

It doesn’t seem like she’ll accept his apology. Not because she’s unforgiving, but because it truly doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late. 

And at that moment it occurs to him that he doesn’t want to be late for anything else. He’s in no position to ask her for a favor.  

“Sakura, will you...” He takes a breath, “Will you stay until Naruto returns?” 

Her brows furrow. “For what?” 

“I’m going to ask him.” 

“And you want me here for it? Are you joking?” 

“Does it look like I'm joking?” 

“Now you need moral support?” 

“Yeah?” 

She sighs deeply.  

“If you two start fighting, I’m out of here.” 

He’ll take it. 

 ________________________________________________________

Naruto puts away his groceries after greeting Sakura in mild suspicion. He has no idea what they’re up to over on the table, but he sees paperwork and it looks important.  

There’s a bit of an uncomfortable feeling in the air. He doesn’t know what to expect, but Sasuke looks... Nervous? He really hopes he hasn’t gotten himself into any trouble. Naruto doesn’t think he can handle any more of that. 

He sits down at the table and tries to look relaxed. He purposely avoids looking at the paperwork. He’s sure they’ll tell him.  

“Naruto,” Sasuke starts. “I’ve found something. A job, I guess?” 

Naruto relaxes a little, he fakes a smile, because he’s not sure if there’s anything to be glad about yet. “That’s great!” 

“But there’s conditions.” 

He eyes the both of them, suspicious all over again.  

“What’s going on here?” 

“It’s a field study, Naruto.” Sakura pipes in. “A two-year field study.” 

He bites his lip. He’s not quite sure he heard her right. And even if he did hear her right, he doesn’t know why the hell she’s promoting something like this. That strange uncomfortable feeling rises up in his chest. The kind where it gets too tight in his lungs and he can’t quite breathe. He scratches at his hand on the table, refusing to look up at them both. So, this was what Sasuke was talking about. On the docks he said he'll stay a while. Just a while and then he’ll leave when he’s ready. Naruto didn’t think he would be ready to go so soon.  

He didn’t think he would be ready to go right after that heart to heart this morning that meant so much to Naruto. That talk that made him finally feel like there’s no way he could possibly lose him. He can feel his eyes getting damp and he hates it. He would rather not show it at this point. He feels a little betrayed. Not just by Sasuke but Sakura too, just because she’s clearly involved and sitting right here. His heart is in his throat but he just wants to close off. He doesn’t want Sakura to see him break down like he did those few months ago on his kitchen floor, where Sasuke had to urge him back into breathing properly.  

He feels it getting closer, creeping up on him, darkening his mind and tearing at his throat. There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing he can say to stop this. Because something that comes up time and time again like this is bound to happen regardless.  

He shuts his eyes tight. 

Suddenly there’s a hand on his. He opens his not quite dry eyes to look up. Sasuke’s expression is like one he’s never seen before. Open, pleading, practically desperate. He squeezes Naruto’s hand tighter across the table, not caring at all that Sakura will see them this way.  

“Naruto.” Sasuke’s voice cracks. And he’s not sure why he asked Sakura to be here now, because he feels so pathetic. He was terrified to do this. He was terrified to ask in the same that Naruto is terrified of him leaving again. “Come with me.” 

Naruto releases a breath, never really aware that he had been holding it. 

“What?” 

“Come with me, Naruto.” 

They stare at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. He can’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say. 

Sakura leans in slightly as if she we’re wordlessly asking if she should leave. She hopes that Sasuke remembers what she told him.  You might not like his answer.  

Naruto feels too much in the moment. He feels so much that it amounts to him being unable to identify any of his emotions. As if they we’re all cancelling each other out, he almost feels nothing. 

His vision tunnels and before and one can stop him, he pulls his hand back from Sasuke’s and he stands from the table. His expression is blank. They don’t know what he’s thinking. He leaves the house again, without a word uttered in reply to that weighted question.  

Sasuke stares down at the table, fist clenched where his hand was holding Naruto’s tightly just moments ago.  

Sakura places her hand on his shoulder that shakes in anger, frustration, sadness? She doesn't know. She says something about letting Naruto be for a while so he can think properly about it. Sasuke doesn’t hear it.  

He doesn’t hear anything.  

[dvp95]

don’t complicate it

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: t

warnings: none

tags: magical realism, canon compliant (not anymore! it was canon compliant in 2017), psychic abilities, phil is a psychic and dan is an embarrassment

word count: 11,289

summary: A magical realism au where everything is the same except sometimes, Phil's dreams come true. Featuring YouTuber cameos, existential crises, and a love story. (Or: It's 2017 and Dan Howell's entire universe has been flipped upside down.)

NOTE: this is not a new story! this is my first dnp fic and i’m just transferring it here to have all my shit in one place, basically. i wrote this two years ago and if i were to write it today, i’d change some stuff, but. i’m generally still pretty pleased with it! so i hope y’all get a kick out of old daye’s bad pacing and shaky dialogue 

read on ao3 or here!

If there's one thing Dan knows for sure about his housemate, it's that Phil Lester is weird. He's always been weird - weird to film with, weird to listen to, even weird to look at since he's usually pulling a face for no reason or turning his hand backwards to fit in his pocket - but living with him has made Dan eternally grateful that he is so fond of Phil's weirdness, because otherwise this friendship thing just wouldn't work.

In addition to the general weirdness, Phil has more superstitions than Dan's entire family. Dan has been yelled at for putting a box of new shoes on the table, yanked away from ladders rather violently, and asked if he's angry if he leaves his cutlery crossed on his plate. It would probably be annoying, if Dan ever got seriously annoyed by the things Phil does.

It's funny instead of annoying, like most things about Phil, but Dan has to draw the line somewhere.

"What do you mean, I can't use my laptop today?" he asks Phil slowly, trying very hard not to freak out. "What have you done to it?"

"Nothing!" Phil insists. He holds up his hands like it somehow proves his innocence.

"I don't believe you," says Dan, "and I'm not going to stay off my laptop for an entire day, you absolute donkey. Give it back."

"I can't give it back to you." Phil sounds exasperated, which is the exact wrong emotion for him to be feeling after hiding Dan's laptop at ten in the morning. "If you use your laptop today, it's going to break. We can't afford another iProduct."

Dan narrows his eyes. First of all, he has his own bank account with his own money, and there is no 'we' about buying Dan a new laptop. Secondly - "My baby is perfectly fine, assuming you haven't done something to it and you're planning on replacing it before I notice."

"That would be stupid of me, of course you'd notice."

"Phil."

"Can't you just trust me?"

If it was anything else, Dan would probably let the argument drop and let Phil be weird about this, too. His laptop, though? That's off-limits.

"No, I can't," Dan says, holding out his hand. "Give me back my laptop. Right now."

Phil sighs heavily and leaves the lounge, returning after a few minutes with Dan's laptop in his hands. He hesitates when Dan reaches for it, but passes it over reluctantly.

"Just... don't click anything Felix sends you," says Phil. Dan rolls his eyes and agrees in order to placate his friend, but he has a bad habit of forgetting things Phil has told him - and can he be blamed? He has eight years' worth of Phil-specific information to retain, it can't all stay at the forefront of his mind.

That's his reasoning for clicking the link Felix emails him, despite explicitly being told not to. He inhales sharply when his screen immediately goes black.

Phil turns to look at him from the other end of the sofa, expression already resigned. "I told you not to click it, Dan!"

"What happened?" Dan asks, panicking as he tries every keyboard shortcut he knows.

"I don't know," Phil huffs and pulls out his phone. "I'll ask Felix, I suppose."

It turns out that Felix's email got hacked, because of course it did, and everyone on his contact list got an attachment full of scary computer viruses. Felix gives everyone a heads-up on Twitter, but the damage to Dan's laptop is already done.

When Dan gets back from the Apple store with bad news and a shiny new laptop, he stops in Phil's doorway and frowns. "How did you know Felix got hacked?"

"I didn't," Phil says without looking up from his own laptop. "I just had a feeling you'd break your laptop today."

"No, you told me this morning not to click on anything Felix sent me. That's more than 'a feeling', Phil." Dan struggles not to look or sound sheepish. He isn't the one who needs to explain himself, here.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Dan," says Phil.

"I want you to tell me how you knew about this," Dan insists, pointing at his shopping bag even though Phil isn't looking at him. "Did you and Felix plan this?"

That makes Phil look up. "Of course not!"

Phil is the worst liar Dan has ever met, and the hurt in his voice at being accused of murdering Dan's laptop on purpose is real enough. Dan bites his lip so that he doesn't apologise reflexively. Even if Phil had nothing to do with the death of his laptop, the fact that he knew about it beforehand is suspicious enough to withhold apologies.

"Okay, so tell me the truth," Dan says instead of apologising like his mouth wants to.

"The truth," Phil repeats, looking back down at his laptop to close the lid. "I mean, okay, but you won't believe me."

"Try me," Dan challenges.

"I had a dream about it," says Phil, making careful eye contact with Dan. "That's it, that's all that happened. I dreamed that your laptop died because of an email from Felix, and then it happened, because my dreams come true sometimes."

This is not the first time Phil has made such a claim, but it's definitely the first time he wasn't at least half joking. Dan's scoff dies in his throat at how genuine Phil is acting.

"You're not psychic, Phil," Dan says slowly.

"Of course I'm not." Phil rolls his eyes, and Dan has a moment of relief before Phil adds, "I'm clairvoyant."

"Those are the same thing!"

"They actually aren't, interestingly enough. See -"

"Please stop," Dan groans, holding up a hand. "Stop right there. I don't believe in any of this nonsense, and you know that. I'd sooner believe you became a master hacker overnight and sent me that virus yourself as an expensive and unfunny prank."

Hurt flashes across Phil's face before annoyance takes over, and he shrugs. "Believe whatever you want, Dan. You asked for the truth and I told you."

"Your 'truth'," says Dan, air quotes difficult with a shopping bag but necessary, "is scientifically impossible."

"Fine, I won't tell you about my dreams anymore," Phil huffs, standing up to pointedly start getting ready for bed.

"Well, good," Dan says after a long pause. Phil doesn't deign to reply to his cutting wit, so Dan goes to his own bedroom and starts setting up his new baby. The first thing he does once he can start using it is type in the word 'clairvoyant'.

Google doesn't tell him anything he doesn't already know, so that's a non-starter. He ends up in a Reddit thread about premonitions during sleep, and even though the stories are interesting, they can't be true. That isn't how the universe works.

There's a lot about the universe that Dan doesn't understand. He knows that better than anyone, and it's the cause of many a crisis in his life.

Magic, though? Fortune telling? That's just factually wrong.

Dan decides, when he hears birds start to sing and realises he's spent all night in a Google vortex again, that what Phil experienced was nothing more than a coincidence.

It has to be a coincidence, or a joke, or else Dan is going to lay facedown on the floor for an entire week.

--

Phil is acting weirder than usual.

They're recording for a danisnotonfire video that Dan isn't sure yet if he actually wants to upload, and Phil keeps looking over his shoulder and reacting to every small noise outside their building. After ten minutes of this, Dan tells him to stop the camera for his own sanity.

"I can't use any of that," he says like he wasn't second-guessing the idea already. "You're so jumpy! Did you play spooky games without me?"

"No," says Phil.

He doesn't elaborate, which forces Dan to respond with a slow, "Okay, so why are you acting like a small rodent?"

Phil opens his mouth, probably to bicker about exactly what he's doing, but he's interrupted by the sound of someone banging on their front door. As if this is what he's been expecting, Phil leaps to his feet and bolts out of Dan's bedroom.

"That was weird," Dan tells the camera. It's no longer recording, but he has no one else to commiserate the weirdness of Phil Lester with.

While he waits for Phil to get back, he wonders who's at the door. It's not like they have many friends in the city, and the ones they have tend to text or call before showing up. Louise always says it's so she doesn't 'interrupt anything', which Dan tries not to read too deeply into.

Dan gets bored and follows Phil down the stairs, where he hears a loud and familiar voice drifting up from the entrance.

"- and I'm only trying to get to Dublin, right, but Heathrow decided I was suspicious somehow and I make inappropriate jokes when I'm uncomfortable - stop laughing - so they detained me and I missed my flight!"

"And we're the only people you know in London?" Dan hears Phil ask, and he sounds amused but not at all surprised. Which is weird, because Markiplier being in London without warning is pretty surprising stuff.

"I don't know anyone else's address," Mark admits, sounding good-natured despite an apparently difficult airport adventure. "Yours is in my phone, but I don't remember putting it there."

"Pretty sure I added it at VidCon this year," Phil says, starting to climb the stairs. "I had a feeling you'd need our sofa at some point."

That's a sufficient enough explanation for Mark, who has moved onto asking what they have in the way of coffee and food, but Dan hurries back up to his room to have a minor mental breakdown. He checks Mark's twitter and Facebook, but there's no mention of a trip, and it wouldn't make sense for Phil and Mark to have planned this to trick Dan, with the way they were talking downstairs.

So how did Phil know that Mark was coming? Why did he have a feeling, months ago, that Mark would need to know the address of someone in London at some point?

It doesn't make any logical sense. This isn't a joke or a coincidence, it's just really fucking weird.

Dan eyes his floor, considering lying down on it, but they have a guest. Existential crises are not proper host etiquette. Still, he waits for Phil to shout his name before getting out of bed and confronting this very strange turn of events.

Maybe the universe doesn't work scientifically at all. Maybe scientists are just people who make shit up and act like it's the truth, because Dan is starting to think that Phil might not have been lying at all.

He doesn't get a chance to say anything to Phil, between getting shot down for an impromptu collab - "No offence, boys, but I'm on vacation, maybe on my way back!" - introducing Mark to their current favourite anime - "Fuck you, I'm not crying." - and setting Mark up on the sofabed in their gaming room - "It's too small for either of us, but you're about a foot shorter, aren't you?" - until they're walking downstairs together in comfortable silence, arms brushing.

"You knew Mark was coming," Dan says, not bothering to make it a question.

"Yeah," says Phil.

Dan appreciates that Phil doesn't try to lie, but it only adds to the paranoia that's been building all day. "And like, you already knew about that? At VidCon?"

"You were listening?" Phil asks with a surprised grin as they reach their main landing.

"Irrelevant," Dan sniffs, crossing his arms.

Phil laughs at him, but it's not mean. Sometimes Dan thinks that Phil doesn't have a mean bone in his entire body.

"Yeah, I had this dream at VidCon," Phil leans against his bedroom doorframe, "and Mark was wandering around London without a travel plan on his phone, trying to find a hotel he could afford. I just thought it would be easier and more fun for him to come here."

"And you had the same dream last night," guesses Dan.

"No, last night I dreamed he ate all my cereal, which only makes sense if he's in our apartment."

"Good, you deserve to have your cereal eaten," Dan says automatically, because that's something he understands. The universe might get turned on its head if Phil is actually magic, but at least Dan can find comfort in the fact that he's still a cereal thief.

"Shut up," Phil laughs and reaches out to push Dan's chest lightly.

His hand lingers, but Dan is far more concerned about the fact that Phil might be psychic.

"I want to hear about your dreams." Dan knows as he says it that this is a mistake, that if magic exists and it isn't being used to his advantage, the world will be a scarier place than it already was.

"All of them?" Phil asks, still smiling. "Or just the clairvoyant ones?"

"You can tell the difference?"

"Sure. I mean, if it's realistic or boring, it's probably going to come true. My regular dreams are frickin' cool."

Dan can feel a grin tugging at his lips. "I suppose if they're so 'frickin' cool', I want to hear about those dreams too."

"Cool," Phil giggles a little and steps away from his doorframe, looking more relaxed than he has in days around Dan. "I'll keep a detailed dream journal just for you."

"You'd better," Dan says faux-sternly.

This entire situation is one of the most unsettling things Dan has ever experienced, but the bright smile on Phil's face when he says goodnight is worth every panic attack Dan is going to have about the makeup of the known universe. He seems so happy to be believed that Dan wonders if Phil has ever told anyone about this in so much detail.

Probably. Phil is basically an open book, after all.

If it makes Dan feel better to pretend as he's falling asleep that Phil has confided something in him that he's never divulged before, nobody has to know.

--

Dan wakes up before noon on his own, for once, and he startles when he sees someone in his kitchen before remembering that they have a guest. Yawning, he opens the kitchen door and greets Mark with a distorted, "Morning."

"Hey," Mark grins, leaning against the counter with a bowl of Phil's cereal. "You think Phil's gonna mind if I finish this?"

"Course not," says Dan, "you're the guest."

They both maintain a straight face for a couple seconds before Mark breaks and causes Dan to start laughing too. It's always comfortable to hang out with Mark, but Dan would be lying if he said he liked having guests spend the night. He doesn't like the feeling of someone being in his apartment while he's asleep.

It's nice, then, to be reminded that Mark is funny, and warm, and leaving in a couple of hours.

"So, you're going to see Jack?" Dan asks, because Phil had elbowed him every time he tried to ask the night before. "Shit, I mean, Sean."

"I fuck that up constantly," Mark admits, rinsing his bowl in the sink. "Yeah, I'm spending the weekend at his place. We're trying not to make a big deal of it, because - well, you know."

"I do?" Dan raises his eyebrows and starts making coffee for three.

"Obviously." Mark points at the mug that Dan pulled out for Phil, the one with Daddy emblazoned across it.

"That's a joke," Dan says automatically.

Mark starts laughing again, far too loud for the subject matter and time of day. "Bro, I know it's a joke. I meant you obviously know why we're keeping it on the down-low because you also have crazy shipper fans who think you guys are going to get married and die in each other's arms."

"I prefer to think of them as 'dedicated'," Dan says, turning away from Mark until the heat in his cheeks settles down. "But yeah, I get it."

"Didn't mean to make it weird, dude," Mark says apologetically. Apparently Dan didn't hide his face fast enough. "I figured you were, like, comfortable joking about it."

"I am." Dan glances at the kitchen door, paranoid that Phil is listening and getting the wrong impression. "For a second I just thought you were saying that you and Jack are together, and then I felt stupid when I realised you just meant the fan speculation."

The ensuing quiet is strange, considering his conversation partner, but Dan doesn't look up from the mugs.

"Wait," Mark touches Dan's shoulder to get his attention. "Wait, hang on, are you saying that you and Phil are in a relationship?"

"No, but I guess we're closer to it than not," Dan half-jokes. "So sometimes I forget we aren't."

It's the truth, but it seems to shock Mark into silence.

The fact of the matter is that Dan knows who he's going to spend the rest of his life with. He knows, despite everything, that Phil is the most important person in his life and probably always will be. Nothing about them has ever been on the down-low, because they have nothing to hide, but there are times when it slips Dan's mind that the fans aren't onto something.

After coffee is poured and Dan has drank half of his own for something to do with his hands, Mark finally speaks. "I don't think Sean and I are thaaaat close, so I get why the joke was weird coming from me. Also, I'm pretty sure you should tell Phil that you want to be with him."

Dan nearly spits coffee onto the floor.

"What?"

"I know it's not my business," Mark says with a shrug, "but it sure seems like you're pining."

"I am not pining," says Dan, affronted.

"You totally are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are - look, I'm not getting into this with you." Mark looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh, and Dan glares at him. "I'm just saying that I'm never going to just randomly forget that Sean and I aren't in a relationship. and it's weird that you do."

"Phil being my platonic life partner is the least weird thing in my life," Dan says dismissively. Mark rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you say, dude," says Mark.

To Dan's relief, he lets the topic drop for the next few hours. They play Mario Kart until their shouting wakes Phil, and then they take turns kicking Phil's ass. Phil is pretty good-natured about the whole thing.

As fun as Mark is to be around, Dan is relieved to see him to the door. He doesn't need any more of the pointed looks Mark keeps sending his way whenever he grabs Phil's arm in excitement or leans in close to psych him out.

"You should come round again sometime," Phil is suggesting as they gather awkwardly in the small bottom landing.

"On purpose next time," Mark agrees, giving each of them a one-armed hug. It's nice - Mark is a champion hugger, even while holding a duffel bag.

"It was good seeing you," Dan says truthfully. "Next time, maybe a heads up?"

"Nah, I think I'll be spontaneous again."

"What if we're not home?"

"That's a good one, Dan."

"You'll miss your flight if you keep bickering," Phil interrupts with a laugh. He squeezes Mark's shoulder and cryptically adds, "Don't eat the sandwiches on the flight. It'll make you sick."

"Okay," Mark says easily, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. "I'll see you boys around."

The ensuing quiet in Mark's wake is welcome, but all Dan can think about is how close together he and Phil have to stand in order to fit on this landing. Thanks to the proximity, he can see uncharacteristic bags under Phil's eyes.

Dan reaches out to press the pads of his fingers gently against Phil's skin there and hums, "Mark being sick kept you up?"

"No," Phil says with an indulgent smile.

"You promised to tell me about your dreams," Dan reminds him when Phil shows no sign of continuing. He's probably been touching Phil's face for too long, so he lets his hand awkwardly drop to his side.

Still smiling, Phil shrugs. "It wasn't that interesting, Dan. Just hard to figure out."

"I can help," says Dan.

He wants Phil to confide in him, even about the weird things. As much as this situation freaks him out, and it's a lot, Dan doesn't like Phil keeping anything from him.

"I just remember being anxious, and I couldn't figure out why," Phil admits at long last, sitting down on the steps. "I wasn't at home or anywhere familiar, which just made it worse."

"Were we travelling?" Dan asks, leaning back against their front door instead of sitting beside Phil on the narrow steps, like he wants to.

Phil grins and shakes his head. "You just assume you were there, huh?"

"Of course I was there," says Dan.

"You were." Phil's grin widens as he looks down at his hands. "Obviously you were there. You kept telling me to calm down, but I couldn't, and then you left the room."

"I left?" Dan asks in disbelief. "I literally left?"

Just another piece of evidence supporting the fact that Phil does not have psychic dreams - Dan wouldn't leave Phil alone when he was in the middle of freaking out, that would never happen. When Phil is freaking out, the only thing that calms him is having someone talk him through the situation.

"Yeah, that's what confused me," Phil hums. "You don't usually leave."

"I never leave," Dan corrects him.

Phil looks up at him with an expression that Dan can only categorize as, well, fond. It's the expression that somehow means 'you're an idiot' and 'I'm glad we're doing this together' at the same time. The internet has probably labelled it as something else, since there's a good chance the expression has been caught on film, but Dan doesn't think anything will describe it quite as well as fond.

The moment is stretching into something harder to laugh off, and Dan has to clear his throat before the quiet becomes suffocating.

"Alright, did you figure out why dream-me left you alone?"

"No, but I'm sure you have a good reason," says Phil in a soft voice. He stands and stretches, purposefully breaking eye contact with Dan. "You fancy a tea?"

Dan shakes his head and watches Phil climb their narrow stairs, wondering if there's something Phil isn't telling him.

--

Phil's smile disappears as soon as Dan turns the camera off, which isn't unusual when their filming takes a long time, but Dan gets worried when Phil sighs and puts his head down on the desk.

"You okay?" Dan asks, resting his fingertips on Phil's shoulder.

"I'm tired," says Phil into the wooden surface, "and I keep having bad dreams whenever I try to rest."

This isn't news to Dan, as Phil has been keeping him in the dream loop for the past couple weeks, but Dan didn't realize it was getting so bad. He feels guilt settle in his stomach for not noticing before Phil faceplanted into their desk.

"Is there anything that usually helps? Like, stops you from dreaming altogether? I think we still have that vanilla vodka from New Year's, that usually conks me out."

Phil tilts his head on the desk to give Dan an indulgent smile. "No, getting drunk doesn't help."

"That's a shame," says Dan.

"I don't know, nothing really stops me from dreaming," Phil says when it's obvious that Dan isn't changing the subject. "Like, I guess there are things that help make the dreams blurry and more fun to be in, but I've never woken up and thought, 'wow, I didn't have a single dream last night'."

"That sounds... exhausting," Dan admits. He has more dreamless nights than not; he thinks that if he had dreams every night and also, some of them might come true, he'd go mad.

Phil doesn't bother to respond to that, because obviously it's exhausting, but he sighs again and closes his eyes.

"You can't sleep here, c'mon," Dan murmurs, squeezing Phil's shoulder before standing up. "I'm sure your bed will be more comfortable than wood."

"Your mum is more comfortable than wood," Phil says, nonsensically.

With a bit more prodding and cajoling, Dan gets Phil to his feet and guides him down the stairs so he doesn't wipe out. Phil wrinkles his nose when he looks at his bedroom, so Dan finds himself saying, "Will it help to sleep in my bed? It's not like I'm using it right now."

"Why would that help?" Phil asks, which isn't a no.

"Change of scenery," Dan suggests, opening his door and gesturing for Phil to go in. "Make yourself at home - within reason, like."

"I'm going to snoop through everything," Phil threatens weakly. Dan rolls his eyes and gives Phil a gentle shove into his room. "Okay, okay. Thanks."

Dan stands in the doorway long enough to make sure that Phil gets to the bed without colliding with anything before turning to leave. He normally stays in his room for a good portion of the day, but he doesn't mind taking up the browsing position in their lounge so Phil can get some actual sleep.

Before he can walk away, though, Phil mumbles something that makes him pause.

"What's that?" Dan asks without turning around - just in case Phil hadn't said anything at all.

"Will you stay?" Phil repeats. His voice is quiet and muffled by Dan's comforter, but the request is unmistakable.

Dan isn't sure how this will help, but he smiles over his shoulder and says, "Sure. Let me grab my laptop from the kitchen, I'll be right back."

Considering the exhaustion, he expects Phil to be asleep by the time he gets back with his baby, but Phil's half-closed eyes watch Dan hesitate and look between the desk and bed uncertainly. He doesn't say anything to guide Dan, which is annoying, and Dan ends up making a frustrated noise before flopping onto the far side of his bed and opening Tumblr.

Phil makes a contented noise and curls around Dan, close enough that Dan can feel his body heat but not quite touching. Dan isn't sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed.

It's easy to get lost in the void of Tumblr, and it isn't until Dan gets a text that he realises actual hours have passed. He doesn't want to disturb Phil, but he thinks it might be worse if Phil's sleeping schedule gets all out of whack, so he shakes Phil awake before checking his phone.

"Huh?" Phil bleats, startling awake and blinking a lot.

He has a half-quiff and his eyes are redder than usual. Maybe he should have taken his contacts out before napping, but Dan refuses to feel guilty about that because Phil is a grown man and has been able to take his contacts out without reminders in the past.

"Your nap was becoming a coma," Dan says, picking up his phone before he forgets to check the text.

"Oh," Phil says around a yawn, curling further into Dan so his head is sort of resting on Dan's tummy. "I'm sorry for taking over your bed."

"It's fine, you doofus," says Dan. He's paying more attention to the fact that his mum actually texted him than this conversation, and that's his excuse for carding his fingers through Phil's weird sleep quiff.

Phil doesn't seem to mind or even find it weird. It would probably be weirder to stop doing it now that he's started, so Dan just keeps absently petting Phil as he reads through the strangely long text from his mother.

"What're you looking at?" Phil asks into Dan's shirt.

"Mum texted."

It's such an unusual occurrence that Phil rearranges his entire body in order to stare at Dan whilst keeping his head on Dan's stomach.

"Your mum or my mum?"

"My mum," says Dan, and when did the word 'mum' turn into something that needed clarification in his life?

This is what he'd meant, when he told Mark that sometimes he and Phil are more like a couple than not. He can't picture any of his other friends in this situation, can't even fathom having his hand in someone's hair and talking about their shared mums in bed if there wasn't a romantic element.

With Phil, though, this is just what their friendship is like. Dan honestly isn't sure if things would be easier with said added romantic element, because things are already so easy.

"Dan?" Phil is saying, his voice slightly raised, and Dan guesses that Phil's been trying to get his attention for a while.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said what does she want?"

"Um," Dan looks back down at his phone, trying to collect his thoughts and hide his flushing face, "my family's going on holiday, so she wanted to let me know."

Phil plucks the phone out of Dan's hand and ignores the squawking protests to sigh, "Dan, she also asked you to water her plants."

"So?"

"So, you have a job in London," Phil says, his lips pursing unhappily. "She always thinks you have free time."

Cheeks burning, Dan snatches his phone back and pushes both Phil and his laptop off of him. He doesn't need to be told that his family doesn't take his job seriously, he knows that already.

"Will you come to Reading with me or not?" Dan asks, swinging his legs out of bed and stretching to avoid looking at Phil's apologetic face.

"Course I will," says Phil. "Are we going for a day or the whole time they're gone?"

The idea of spending an entire week in his childhood home is unappealing to Dan, so he responds that he'd prefer only staying over for one night. With any luck, he won't run into anyone he knows while he's there.

Phil doesn't push the topic. He knows when to stop, when all he'll get from Dan is sullen glances and 'I don't want to talk about it, Phil' if he says one more time that Dan might be happier if he tried building stronger relationships in his family.

It's no wonder that Phil doesn't get it, since the Lesters have basically adopted Dan as one of their own.

That's not who the Howells are, though; they aren't sunny and jokey, they don't watch his videos and text him thumbs up emojis, they don't invite Phil over without prompting.

Dan loves them all the same. Of course he loves them, they're his family.

It's just that - when Dan gets homesick, it isn't for Reading. It isn't for Manchester or this crappy London flat either, really. Sure, he misses his sofa crease and the cracks in his bedroom ceiling when they're on the road, but only until the next moment that Phil catches his eye and grins brighter than the sun.

Dan doesn't get homesick often.

--

"I can't even read your writing." Dan tries very hard to sound exasperated when all he wants to do is laugh.

"My writing is so much better than yours!" Phil says defensively, making grabby hands at his dream journal. "A dramatic reading of my dreams was not included in this deal."

"It should be, that sounds hilarious."

Dan doesn't give the journal back, because he's just winding Phil up. He flips open to the last page, ignoring Phil's annoyed squawk of a noise that he's only capable of making before his morning coffee, and starts reading.

Lots of the dream descriptions are straight-up impossible; Dan notices that there are stars marking the most realistic entries and a fair few with just a giant question mark. He also can't help but notice that there are places where pages have clearly been torn out. Judging by the dates on some of the earlier entries, Phil has had this journal for months longer than Dan expected, and Dan wonders what Phil wanted to keep to himself.

To be fair, he's had plenty of dreams that he would rather Phil never heard about, but he also would have never written them down in the first place.

Phil leaves the lounge to make coffee at one point, returning quietly with two mugs just when Dan thinks he's had enough of reading older dreams that have already come true. He closes the journal and accepts his coffee before mumbling, "Thanks. Did you make some of these up?"

"No," says Phil, rolling his eyes.

"These ones have happened," Dan says unnecessarily. "You should really keep better track of which dreams have passed."

Before Phil can say anything, Dan fishes for a pen between their sofa cushions and puts a checkmark beside a dream about Dil becoming a nightmarish crafts project.

"Oi, don't mark up my journal," Phil says, but he makes no effort to take the journal or pen from Dan.

Dan ignores him to ask, "How do you not live in constant fear?"

"I dunno." Phil is shrugging when Dan looks up with an expression of disbelief. "I mean, I don't usually dream about anything bad, so it's not like I have death and devastation hanging over my head all the time - unlike you. Don't hit me, I have coffee!"

--

The train to Reading isn't long, especially compared to some of the treks Dan has had to do with a caffeinated Phil at his side, but he still hates every second of it.

It makes him feel younger, and he isn't sure if he likes that feeling. Young Dan was embarrassing and judgemental and so, so terrified that he wouldn't be liked by anyone that he made a lot of choices to make other people happy.

Plus, he can't move the whole journey, since Phil has decided to fall asleep on his shoulder.

Phil's steady breaths are normally quite calming, but he keeps mumbling things that Dan can't quite catch, and it’s driving him crazy.

He never used to care this much about dreams, even his own, but he thinks that the paranoia is justified here.

This whole clairvoyance thing has made Dan incredibly anxious. He can't help but wonder what other things in this universe he doesn't understand, if a form of magic is real. Part of him hopes that this is all an elaborate prank - he'd be mad at first, but it would be better for his mental health all around.

When the train finally starts slowing down, Dan gently shakes Phil's shoulder.

"Dan?" Phil mumbles, not sounding fully awake.

"Yeah, 's me."

Something about the moment that Phil blinks up at Dan without moving from his shoulder causes the breath in Dan's throat to catch.

"I had such a weird dream," Phil confides. "Like, an actually weird dream. Tyler Oakley was doing a collab with Leatherface."

"Sounds harrowing," says Dan.

"It was, a bit," Phil says on a yawn, sitting up properly and blinking at the train window. "Oh, I didn't mean to sleep the whole trip! You must have been so bored. I'm really sorry, Dan."

"The quiet was a nice change," Dan says instead of admitting that he was in fact very bored without Phil's chatter, "and you needed the sleep."

"I did," Phil agrees, before pulling out his phone to check his fringe in the camera app.

"Shut up, you look fine."

"Wow, Reading puts you in a bad mood. We haven't even got off the train yet and you're a grumpleton."

Dan doesn't grace that comment with a response, as Phil is right anyway - Reading does put him in a bad mood. He just stands up and nudges a still-sleepy Phil to do the same when the train is stopped completely.

They take a cab to Dan's family home and Phil talks the entire time about absolutely nothing. Dan appreciates it; the chatter helps him tune out his surroundings so he isn't thinking about the time he threw up on that bench over there or when he got caught shoplifting at the nearest corner store.

Walking into his parents' house is always so weird, because Dan half expects it to have stayed the same since the last holiday he visited. Obviously, it never does.

Part of Dan can't help but think of their books, proudly displayed on the Lesters' coffee table, while looking at the cringey graduation photo on the wall of his own parents' lounge.

Somebody else is growing up here now, is the thing. The photos of Dan on the wall have been the same for five years, but Adrian is still going through the motions of becoming a person, and it's weird for Dan to see that happen in chunks.

"He's getting so old, it's weird," Phil voices, looking at the new photos next to Dan's awful ones.

"Tell me about it," says Dan. "We are all dying."

Phil laughs, because that's what he does when Dan makes a joke about death, and carries his bag upstairs. Since he's feeling listless and like a stranger in his own family home, Dan follows.

--

Dan was upset with me? is the latest thing written in the dream journal that Dan sneaks out of Phil's bag when he can't sleep. It doesn't help.

--

When Dan wakes up in his old bed, the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds in an all-too-familiar way, he has a moment of absolute panic that he's gone back in time - honestly, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing in his life right now - but he’s too long for his bed and he can hear Phil singing in the kitchen.

Dan only has a couple of hours before their train leaves, so he pushes himself out of bed and doesn't bother with getting dressed to water his mum's plants. On his way downstairs he calls out, "Good morning."

"Afternoon!" Phil's voice comes back, bright and loud and not suited for Dan's old house at all.

"Can you get me some water?" Dan asks as he ambles into the kitchen.

"For you or the houseplants?"

"Both, I guess."

"I already fed the houseplants," Phil says with a smile, opening wrong cupboards until he finds a cup. "You want lunch?"

Swallowing around the sudden, inexplicable lump in his throat, Dan murmurs an affirmative. There's something about Phil making himself so at home in a place he hasn't been overly welcomed that is making Dan feel some kind of way that he isn't prepared to deal with at this time of day.

His parents like Phil well enough, but they don't really understand him; they don't understand the person he helped Dan become, either.

Even if Phil is feeling weird here, he's going out of his way to make Dan feel comfortable.

"Why was I upset with you?" asks Dan. His voice is almost too quiet, and he watches as Phil's fingers slip on the loaf of bread he's slicing. "In your dream, I mean. I couldn't sleep so I - yeah."

"I'm not mad you looked," Phil says over his shoulder, "since I made it for you and all."

Dan knows that isn't true from the dates and level of detail in the journal, but he isn't about to call Phil out.

"Well, that's good. So?"

With a heavy sigh, Phil starts to spread peanut butter on bread for Dan - the exact amount that Dan prefers, not that he notices.

"I'm really not sure," Phil says slowly, not looking at Dan. "Remember when I had that dream about me freaking out and you leaving? It was like, the exact same, except you were really upset that I was freaking out instead of trying to calm me down."

"That doesn't sound like me," says Dan.

Phil shrugs and holds out Dan's finished sandwich in response. Dan has to stop himself from squeezing Phil's hip in thanks like he usually does, because Dan is half naked and they're in his old house and he thinks it might be weirder here and now. Then he thinks maybe it's weirder if he doesn't do it, but Phil has started moving towards the lounge before he decides.

Around a mouthful of peanut butter, Dan asks, "How many times have you had this dream?"

"A few," Phil says as he flops his whole body onto the sofa. He leaves enough room for Dan to sit near his feet, which is considerate of him.

"Have you considered that it might just be... a dream?"

"I have done," says Phil, "but it just feels so real, you know? And it's been the same weird room, not on like Jupiter or something."

"I'm not sure what we'd have to argue about on Jupiter," Dan muses out loud. If Dan is honest with himself, he can't think of anything in the entire universe that would make him angry at Phil during what sounds like a panic attack.

"Maybe I stole your space cereal," Phil jokes, poking Dan's thigh with his toes.

Dan wants to say that he wouldn't be legitimately angry over cereal, that he's never been more than irritated by it, that he plays his reaction up for his own entertainment, that almost anything he buys is for Phil too, but all that seems too serious for the moment.

Instead, he cracks a joke and changes the subject so he can make Phil smile for a little while longer.

--

It happens so slowly that Dan doesn't even notice until it's already out of hand.

They've been back from Reading for a week, and Phil has been acting weirder than usual the entire time. Dan didn't see this as a reason for concern, because sometimes Phil is weird for no reason, but when he catches Phil eating his cereal and the first thing out of Phil's mouth is a frantic "sorry!" instead of his usual squawk of "don't look at me!", Dan gets concerned.

"Phil," he says slowly, running a hand through his bedhead and trying to act more awake than he is, "I don't actually give a fuck if you eat my cereal."

"You don't?" Phil immediately puts his hand back into the box, the little shit.

"I mean, it's annoying, but you looked like a startled deer just now," Dan says around a yawn. "I'm not going to yell at you."

An emotion passes over Phil's face too fast for Dan's tired brain to categorize it. Phil shrugs a shoulder and looks back at the box of Crunchy Nut like he's deciding whether or not he wants to eat more.

He's been like this all week, careful and anxious and avoidant, and Dan doesn't know what to do. If he confronts Phil about it, Phil will just deny everything and try too hard to be normal - Dan remembers 2012 vividly - but he doesn't want to encourage this behaviour either.

"Are you alright?" he asks, hoping the simple question won't spook Phil.

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean... you're being weird."

"I'm always weird, Dan."

Dan decides to drop it for the time being. The last thing he wants to do is push Phil further into this weirdness by interrogating him.

"How did you sleep?" he asks instead, noticing the way Phil's shoulders relax when he changes the subject.

"Pretty good, thanks," says Phil, "my dreams were boring but, like, peaceful."

It only takes a bit of prompting from Dan before Phil gives him a play-by-play of his dreams, and since they're as boring as advertised, Dan lets himself zone out and worry about Phil on his own time.

Phil doesn't get any less weird after that, but he tries harder to cover it. Since Dan is a good friend, he pretends like he doesn't know that Phil is still jumpy and anxious underneath the bad jokes.

Honestly, it sucks. Dan wishes that Phil would just open up and say what's on his mind so they can both move on.

That is, until Phil freaks the fuck out.

See, they've been looking at bigger places to live for a few months now, but they have time until their lease is up so they're in no rush.

Dan gets a notification for an available duplex a few weeks after he tried getting an answer out of Phil, and it looks confusingly laid out but otherwise a good fit. It's exciting, but he hesitates before texting Phil about it - does he really want to play the 'everything is normal' game while meeting a potential landlord? For all he knows, Phil is going to come across as a serial killer.

Instead, he texts Louise. She responds with more emojis than characters, but agrees to check the place out with Dan.

The duplex has so much room that Dan has a startled moment of bewilderment. Does he own enough furniture to fill this place? Before he can voice the concern, Louise waves him off with an easy, "Stop worrying, you dingleberry."

"I'm not worried," Dan lies.

Louise rolls her eyes and starts snooping in the closets. "Oh, blimey, can I keep some of my things here?"

"No," says Dan, although he's sure that at least one of his closets will be taken over by Darcy's old toys and Louise's heels. "Me and Phil need the storage for all our miscellaneous shit."

"You could always, I don't know, get rid of some," Louise suggests.

"Maybe during the move we will," Dan allows, gently guiding her out of the closet before the landlord gets concerned.

Aside from a few awkward moments - inevitable, with Louise at his side - Dan thinks that the tour goes really well. He likes the space, the road is blissfully free of loud noises, and the landlord doesn't immediately think he's in adult films when he mentions where lights could go.

Dan likes it so much that he's reluctant to leave, but Louise reminds him that he isn't the only person whose opinion on the house matters.

"You know Phil has to live here too, right?" she says with a laugh when Dan starts asking pointed questions about when the place will be empty. Dan makes an exaggerated huff of a noise.

"He'll take what I bring home and he'll like it."

The landlord gives them an indulgent smile. "We can arrange another day for you to bring your boyfriend by, see if he likes it here?"

"Sure," Dan says automatically, trying to ignore his heart beating faster and Louise staring a hole into the side of his head. He knows that a Talk is coming. "I'll talk to him about it tonight. Thanks for, y'know, having us."

Dan hopes that ignoring Louise on the way to the tube will delay the Talk, but Louise is not easily deterred.

"Boyfriend, eh?" she asks in a lilting voice, elbowing Dan in the side.

"Shut up, it was easier than explaining."

"I actually think that it wouldn't be hard to say 'Phil's my friend and roommate'." Louise, he thinks, sounds far too amused by this situation. "Now if you get the place, your landlord will think you're a couple the whole time!"

"Would that be so weird?" Dan asks. "I mean. It's what people already think when they meet us, and sometimes I forget that we aren't."

Months ago, Dan had said the same thing to Mark; he doesn't expect Louise to react much differently.

"Well, duh," Louise says matter-of-factly, "because you love him."

Dan almost walks into a telephone pole. "Excuse me?"

"Don't be daft, you light up every time he comes in the room," says Louise. "Plus, I can feel your heart rate speed up."

"You can... feel that?"

Wrinkling her nose, Louise shakes her head. "Maybe sense is a better word, but your emotions are so much louder when Phil's around. It's given me migraines in the past, you know."

"Exactly how many of my friends have magic powers and why don't I?" Dan exclaims. He resists throwing his arms in the air dramatically, but only just.

"Ooh, who else?"

"That isn't the point! What the ever-living fuck, Louise? You can sense emotions?"

"Only really strong ones," Louise says with a shrug, like that isn't a big fucking deal. "That's how I know when you do something awkward that makes you want to die - honestly, I thought I already told you this!"

"If you did tell me," says Dan, "I would have assumed you were joking."

Louise rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone as if Dan is boring her. "That sounds like a you problem, then."

She changes the subject when they get to busier streets, chattering about her new boyfriend while Dan, once again, re-evaluates his entire worldview.

--

So, Phil freaking the fuck out.

It takes Dan by surprise, because Phil seems excited by the prospect of more storage and less drilling, but he tenses up as soon as they walk inside the duplex. The landlord doesn't notice, busy repeating the same things that Dan has already heard and gesturing at all the closet space.

Dan doesn't want to draw attention to Phil's weird stiffness, so he makes idle conversation until the landlord leaves to take a phone call.

"Are you okay?" he asks, reaching for Phil's arm.

It's one of the most bewildering moments Dan has ever experienced - and that includes recent magical discoveries - when Phil jerks away from his hand like he's going to be burned.

"I don't - I don't -" Phil stammers, his eyes wide as saucers, "- I mean, it's that - I know this place."

Dan feels useless with his hands at his sides. "Did you see it online?"

"No, I - in my dreams, I -"

It clicks.

"Phil, are you panicking because you had dreams about panicking here?" Dan asks slowly. He doesn't want to laugh or show any irritation in case it makes Phil's hands start to tremble even more, but this is a little funny and a lot annoying. "You know that's such a catch-22, right?"

The look of absolute distress that Phil gives him says that yes, he knows that very well, but he doesn't seem to be able to stop hyperventilating.

Dan sighs and runs a hand through his own hair, letting his fringe do whatever it wants when he does.

"Okay, mate? I'm going to tell the landlord that you aren't feeling well and that we're leaving so that you can have a panic attack in peace. I'm not in any way leaving you alone because I'm mad or because I hate you, alright?"

Phil gives him a shaky thumbs up before covering his face with both hands and making audible attempts to breathe deeply.

The last thing Dan wants to do is leave Phil alone like this, but he does. He doesn't want a potential landlord thinking that they're batshit, after all, so he relays the not-feeling-well lie and comes back to lead Phil outside by the elbow. Instant relief washes over Dan when Phil allows the physical contact.

"You're so weird," says Dan.

He means it to come out as exasperated yet still fond, keeping grip on Phil's elbow for his own peace of mind, but something about Phil struggling to breathe evenly has Dan sounding unexpectedly soft.

To his surprise, Phil huffs a breathy laugh. "Thanks, I think? And thanks for, um, not leaving me alone for long."

"I told you that didn't sound like me," Dan says, squeezing Phil's arm, "you've been trying to avoid a fight that was never going to happen, you absolute knob."

Phil laughs again, loud and genuine. He's starting to sound more like his regular self, so Dan lets go of him to hail down a taxi. It would be silly to put his hand back immediately, Dan thinks, because if Phil's panic attack is over, he has no real excuse to continue touching him. He opens the taxi door for Phil and clamps down on every instinct that wants to help him in - Phil is thirty years old and capable of getting into a car on his own, thanks ever so - and folds his own hands on his lap once they're both buckled in.

"I quite liked that place, actually," Phil admits. He's twiddling his thumbs, and Dan is proud of himself for not putting his hand atop both of Phil's to make him stop. "Do you think they'll let us come back?"

"They seemed to like me," Dan says, because making a good first impression is a point of pride.

"Maybe they'll only rent to you, then," Phil says in the cadence of a joke.

Even though Phil is finally himself again, Dan can hear the uncertain edge to his words. After all, neither of them need a roommate anymore.

Dan looks out the taxi window so it doesn't feel like an admission when he says, "No, we're a package deal. The landlord knows. Honestly, I'm pretty sure everyone knows."

There's an eerie silence from Phil beside him, but Dan focuses completely on the scenery changing to more familiar buildings. The cabbie isn't paying attention, thank the lord, so Dan isn't completely mortified by having this conversation in front of a stranger.

He's still slightly mortified.

It feels like an honest-to-God jumpscare when Phil puts his hand on Dan's knee and squeezes - Dan is pretty sure the noise that startles out of him isn't human.

Phil laughs, not unkindly, and leaves his hand there. "Yeah, I suppose we are."

--

"You're not acting weird anymore," Dan observes later that week as they wait for a Sims lot to load.

"No, you were right about that dream," Phil says with a sheepish smile. "You didn't get mad like I kept expecting you to, but be honest - you were definitely annoyed."

"Of course I was annoyed, you made yourself panic," Dan says with a fond roll of his eyes. He hates when the fantastic is logical, but the evolution of Phil's dream makes a lot of sense; at first, Dream-Dan was worried, and then got angrier as Real-Dan learned about the dream.

Phil elbows him in the side. "Shut up."

The game loads, then, so they stop discussing it and lose themselves in Dil's world for a while. It isn't until Dil becomes 'VERY ANGRY' that Dan remembers he wanted to share some information with Phil.

"Right, you've been acting so weird that I completely forgot to tell you," Dan says, pausing the game. "Did you know that you aren't the only person with weird powers?"

"It would be pretty egotistical for me to think I'm the only one, Dan."

"Shut up," says Dan, "Louise can feel other people's emotions."

The look on Phil's face is totally worth springing this on him. He goes through a whole face journey, starting on pure shock and ending in something that looks strangely nervous.

He looks away before Dan can analyze the expression further, pointing at the computer scene. "Like - like, she can see when people are focused or inspired, like we’re all Sims? Dan. Dan, that's terrifying."

"She said it only worked with strong emotions," Dan laughs, batting Phil's hand away from his monitor so he doesn't leave finger smudges.

"Do you believe her?" asks Phil.

Do you believe me now?

Dan gives a noncommittal shrug, his first instinct to being asked an opinion, and adds, "Yeah. You've both made a pretty compelling case for magic being, like, a thing."

"What did she feel off of you?" Phil asks curiously, and Dan accidentally-on-purpose presses the pause shortcut so their attention can be consumed by their odd little virtual family again.

--

Dan assumes that if Phil asks Louise anything personal, Louise will keep her mouth shut. He has a lot of blackmail material on her, after all, and friends don't tell people that a friend is feeling Things without consulting that friend.

As the month comes to a close, though, Phil starts pretending he can't find his dream journal and gives Dan looks when he thinks Dan isn't paying attention. It's nerve-wracking.

Luckily, Phil is his regular self aside from that. Dan lets himself revel in how good it feels to have his best friend in top form and cracking decent bants again.

He wants to ask Louise if she's spilled the beans on what are certainly misunderstood feelings, but he's a little scared of the answer. If he doesn't ask either of them, Dan can pretend that everything is back to normal and that he isn't hyperaware of his own body every time Phil touches him.

To make a joke of it all, Dan texts Markiplier without context that he finally understands how Schrödinger felt, because Mark and Louise are the only ones who have an inkling about this situation.

From Mark: Dude, it's 5am here. Shut the fuck up and tell Phil how you feel.

To Mark: that's not what i'm talking about

From Mark: Ohhh, so you ACTUALLY have a maybe-dead cat in your apartment? That's so weird. Maybe you should call someone for that.

To Mark: you're enjoying this too much

Mark, the twat, leaves Dan on read - presumably to go to sleep - and Dan hovers over Louise's contact photo before groaning and opening Tumblr instead.

It's best if he doesn't know. He's pretty sure a cat inside a box is eventually going to die.

--

I should examine this, probably, Dan thinks as another casual brush of Phil's fingers causes his heart to jump into his throat. He doesn't particularly want to end up facedown on the floor, so he decides he'd rather play Mario Kart.

--

Unlike their brief attempt to buy a house, which went sideways in the worst way, signing a lease at the new flat is deceptively easy.

Phil is talking the landlord's ear off while Dan reads the paperwork over and tries to look like he knows what he's doing. He has uni flashbacks at the legal buzzwords, but he tries to focus instead of interjecting in all of Phil's stories and questions. It's working relatively well until Phil has to ask, "Are we allowed a dog?"

"No," Dan answers before the landlord can, tapping a line in the lease. "Sorry, Phil, a dog will have to be got when a house is bought."

He notices that Phil looks a little disappointed but not surprised, and he wonders if that's because Phil anticipated this downside of renting or if he had a dream involving their lack of pets.

"Fair enough," Phil acquiesces, squeezing the back of Dan's neck casually.

Their new landlord smiles at them and Dan is feeling quite good about this whole situation until they ask, "So, how long have the two of you been together?"

"Excuse me?"

Phil doesn't sound offended or even bewildered, just curious. It makes sense; they get mistaken for a couple quite a lot. For his part, Dan is trying to become invisible by melting into the sofa, because he knows that their landlord's assumption isn't coming from nowhere.

"Sorry to pry," they say politely, "Daniel mentioned that the two of you have lived together a while, and I do enjoy a good love story."

Dan hopes that the floor is going to open up and swallow him whole. He feels Phil's gaze but refuses to meet it, face burning.

After a couple of seconds - during which Dan contemplates death or, at the very least, running away to Tokyo - Phil returns his hand to Dan's neck and easily says, "Eight years."

With a mortified noise, Dan hides his face in his hands and tries to ignore the heavy thumping of his heart. Their landlord is saying something else, probably asking what the fuck is wrong with Phil's boyfriend, but all Dan can pay attention to is the weight of Phil's hand and the sound of his genuine laugh in response to whatever question he's asked.

"He's just embarrassed because he hates telling people how we met," Phil stage-whispers. "He basically stalked me online until I noticed him."

"Oh my God, I hate you," Dan groans into his palms.

"No, you don't," says Phil cheerfully.

New landlord chuckles before a phone rings and they have to leave the flat to take the call, murmuring an "excuse me". The silence left in their wake is horrible, and Dan thinks that he's never going to come out of the safety of his hands again.

It takes a few minutes for Phil to move his hand from Dan's neck; honestly, Dan is expecting him to laugh or ask questions that Dan doesn't have answers to, but Phil just takes Dan's hands in both of his and gently pulls them away from Dan's face.

"Did you tell our landlord that we're a couple?" Phil asks, his voice lilting strangely on the last word.

Dan nods, biting his lip. He can feel the heat of an ugly blush radiating off his face, and he has genuinely no idea how he's going to explain this away.

"Why?"

It's a simple question, and certainly a fair one - anyone would want to know the answer - but it stumps Dan. He'd done it because the landlord had assumed, but seeing as most of the people they meet have the same assumption, the logic doesn't really hold up. He could say he'd done it ironically, which he thinks that Phil might accept as an answer, or a joke, which he thinks Phil would disapprove of.

He could say a lot of things, but they all feel like lies. Dan looks down at where Phil is holding his wrists between them on the sofa so he doesn't have to make eye contact when he answers, "Sometimes it feels more like the truth than saying we aren't."

"I guess I can see that," says Phil. To Dan's absolute bewilderment, his voice is calm and his hands aren't shaking. Dan's are. "Tell me something else, then? What do you want to be the truth?"

That... is a less simple question.

"Dunno," Dan shrugs, because he can feel Phil watching him and he doesn't want to take too long to answer. "I never really thought it would be a relevant question."

"Well, do you still want to live with me?" asks Phil. The question is filled with such genuine concern that it startles Dan into looking up to shoot Phil an incredulous expression. He's not prepared for how close Phil is, even though personal space has long been a myth between them.

"Of course I do, you fucking buffoon."

A corner of Phil's mouth curves upwards and Dan tries not to show how nervous he is, because Phil is still weirdly calm.

"Okay, okay," says Phil, squeezing Dan's wrists before letting go, "we should sign, then."

Dan had completely forgotten what they were doing before Phil asked if he wanted to be in a relationship, so he's grateful for the reminder. He skims the rest of the lease as thoroughly as he can with Phil watching him.

There aren't any surprises in the paperwork, which Dan is grateful for - he isn't sure he'd be able to debate with the landlord in his current state. He signs quickly and hands the pen to Phil as their new landlord walks in, pocketing a phone.

"You're all set?" the landlord asks with a smile.

"We are," Phil answers for them both. He stands up and shakes the landlord's hand, making small talk while Dan forcibly drags his gaze away from Phil.

He doesn't know what he wants. It should be easy, sorting through his feelings and deciding yeah, that's how I want things to be, but there are serious downsides to any decision Dan makes right now.

Ruining their friendship would be unacceptable, but honestly, Dan doesn't think anything he says will make Phil stop being his best friend. It would just be awkward if Dan wanted something Phil doesn't - and why didn't Phil say what he wants, so Dan isn't freaking the fuck out and wondering? - it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Dan thinks it would be pretty damn close to the end of the world if they tried, failed, and had to dance around each other as awkward exes. That's the darkest timeline, right there.

Or maybe it's not.

Phil is gesturing for Dan to leave with him, smiling widely, and Dan considers what would happen if nothing changed between them. It's certainly the path of least resistance, but as Dan stands up and Phil leans into his space out of sheer instinct, Dan has to admit that not addressing the way his heart reacts to Phil is the worst option on the table.

The landlord says things and Phil says things back, but Dan isn't listening. He's too busy forcing himself to imagine Phil moving out, Phil getting a dog without him, Phil finding someone else to share his life with, because that's what best friends do.

By the time they hail a cab to their terrible current flat, all Dan can say for sure is that he really, really doesn't want to do nothing.

Phil is quiet for once, looking out the taxi window and letting Dan have space to think, and Dan is so fond and so sure, at this moment, that he reaches out and puts his hand over Phil's.

It only takes a moment before Phil registers what he's doing. He grins so damn brightly that Dan hates himself for not considering his options before this.

"Is this your final answer?" Phil asks, affecting a silly announcer voice to lighten the moment.

Dan snorts and says, "Yeah, alright."

It's all he can manage out loud right now, but Phil beams at him and turns his hand over so they can wind their fingers together properly. It's not the first time they've held hands, but it's the first time it's meant something so important.

Things could still go so wrong. This might not work, and things will be awkward, possibly forever.

Dan, well. He chooses to hope for the best here.

--

"Did you dream about this?" Dan thinks to ask during a commercial break. Phil is curled into his side, lanky giraffe legs thrown over Dan’s lap. It should be weird, since they've never cuddled quite like this before, but Dan feels warm to the core. "Us, I mean. Is that why you hid your journal?"

"I didn't hide it," Phil lies, "I lost it."

Dan huffs his disbelief and pinches Phil’s thigh. "You can tell me. In case you didn't notice, I'm not going to mind."

The grin Phil shoots him is almost shy, which tugs at Dan's heartstrings. He smiles back and runs his fingers through Phil's hair, because he can.

"Does it really matter what I dreamed?" Phil hums, leaning into Dan's hand like a cat. "I've had dreams about us for years, to be honest, but I could never figure out if they were premonitions or just, like, wishful thinking."

"You weirdo."

"Your weirdo," counters Phil. The words are a bit stilted, like he isn't sure if Dan wants to hear them, and Dan can't help himself - he presses his lips to Phil's, quick and chaste and easy as breathing. He'd worried that maybe it would take a while for them to be comfortable with kissing, but honestly, it feels like the natural progression of their relationship.

Phil grins and chases Dan's mouth as he leans back, pressing light kisses all over the bottom half of Dan's face until Dan is laughing breathlessly.

"Okay, fine, you're my weirdo," Dan says as Phil smooches the tip of his nose. "Now shhh, the show is back on."

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Plus One

“I’m not going. This is stupid,” Lexa lamented as she sipped her coffee. She slumped back in her chair and stared at her fingers picking at the holder anxiously.

“You have to go.”

“I don’t, and I’m not. It was a courtesy invitation, and that’s all.”

“Which is exactly why you have to go,” Anya explained, already annoyed at her sister's antics and moping. “You have to show her that you moved on and it didn’t take forever for you to get over her. Costia needs to see that you got someone nicer and better and smarter and hotter.”

“I’m fine. I’m over her. I don’t have to go to prove anything. And,” she twisted up her face at the realization, “I haven’t found anyone all of those things. I haven’t even tried.”

The café filled with people grabbing some sustenance while the two sat at their normal table. For the better part of the conversation, Lexa regretted mentioning that she’d gotten her ex’s wedding invitation. She also hated that now she would have to listen to her sister’s opinions on the matter.

“That’s my point! You haven’t even looked! Costia cheated on you, broke your heart, stole four years of your life, and then asked to be friends after it was all over,” she recited. “Now she invites you to her wedding and you’re supposed to go and be happy? No way.”

“We’re friends. It was the nice thing to do, but I probably won’t go.”

“You have to go and show her what’s what.”

“What does that even mean?” Lexa shook her head and sipped her coffee as she let her gaze wander to the window and the city outside.

The coffee shop was bustling, filled with people reading and writing and talking and laughing, but it did nothing to make Lexa feel any better about the invitation. She refused to look at her sister because she knew exactly the look she was getting.

“You find yourself a hot date and make her see that you weren’t even bothered at all.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s brilliant.”

“It’s petty.”

“Think about it,” Anya said excitedly. “You go to the wedding, you take a smoking hot lady, and you end it, once and for all. You prove that you aren’t even  thinking about Costia.”

“It’s over. It’s been over for years.”

“All you do is work.”

“I run my own business,” Lexa sighed, shaking her head. “I want to be successful. And I am over her. I’ve dated.”

All that Anya could do was shake her head and give a heavy groan of complaint. She was never a fan of Costia, and she was certainly more than happy to see it over, though never happy to see how gutted it made her sister.

There wasn’t a doubt that Lexa loved Costia. She’d been her first real love. There’d been girlfriends before, but something always came up, always ended it before six months. Something about Costia was different, and for the life of her Anya never knew why, and her sister could never explain it.

And while it was true that Lexa was busy, her sister never believed much else. She didn’t buy the other girls and going out and being over Costia. Someone over their ex wouldn’t look so glum about a wedding invitation.

“You have to show her. Just think about it.”

“I never would have imagined you’d be advocating me going to Costia’s wedding.”

“I’m advocating you getting laid and rubbing it in her face.”

“Okay, are you done?” Lexa laughed and hoped all at once.

From the table, she looked back over the café while her workers went about their jobs, not really needing her to do their jobs. She didn’t care, she still liked to work normal hours. Unfortunately she hired competent people and so she wasn’t needed and couldn’t be saved from her sister.

“Think about it.”

Lexa shook her head and sighed, hoping it was enough.

The problem was that Lexa did think about it.

She thought about it all night as she locked up the doors in her café. She let it bother her when she met a few friends out for drinks. She even let it follow her as she told them about her sister’s plan, to which they eagerly agreed, much to her own disappointment and shaming.

The problem was that Lexa thought about it all night.

She thought about it after a few glasses of beer. She thought about it as her brain got a little dizzy and her fingers moved on her keyboard.

Wanted: Beautiful, intelligent, kind, caring, smart, funny woman to show off to my ex at her wedding. Trip to wine country included... Honestly, the other stuff doesn’t matter, just be super hot.

With a grin, she emailed it to her sister, asking if she should post it somewhere.

Still, the thought nagged at her until she opened her ex’s profile. The pictures didn’t hurt her, didn’t bother her. It was like looking at a memory. In reality, she didn’t know Costia anymore, and that was alright. In the years apart, Lexa had grown her little place into a business, and she survived and mended. She just wasn’t sure she was ready for anything with someone else. She got good at being alone and wounded.

With a half drunk revelation about her place in life that she hoped she would forget, Lexa fell asleep and vowed to never think about Costia’s wedding again.

Lexa was mildly successful. After about a week, her sister didn’t bring it up, and she forgot to return the RSVP. It faded away to nothing, and she continued her normal life just as she had since Costia got kicked out and left for good.

“I’ve found her,” Anya sprinted into the coffee shop, nearly panting and half skidding past the counter.

From the booth in the back where she worked on the books, Lexa adjusted her glasses as she looked up and watched her sister frantically look around the counter for her. She perked up when she met Lexa’s eyes and continued to weave back through the tables, shedding a scarf and bag in the process.

“I’ve found your date!”

“I don’t need a date,” Lexa furrowed, forgetting about the stupid wedding. “I have three employees on vacation next week. I’m fine. I’ve told you--”

“Shh. Hush. Shh-shh-shhut your face,” she shook her head and tried to catch her breath still. “I ran the whole way here. I haven’t ran anywhere, ever.”

“You could have texted--”

“Shhh!”

With a roll of her eyes, Lexa waited patiently for her sister. She had bills to pay and she had stuff to get done for the day. After their mom left, Anya grew up almost overnight. The tender age of twelve and suddenly making sure Lexa was okay. It was a hard habit to break. Even fifteen years later.

“We don’t have much time, but through a series of events, I may have forwarded your email to most of my company, meaning all of my company,” she explained, holding up her hand as her sister moved to interrupt and complain. “But I did find you a date.”

“You… You…” Lexa squinted and stared at her sister incredulously. Her mouth wanted to move, but she was too mortified. “You WHAT?”

It came out louder that Lexa normally sounded, which surprised her sister slightly. A few people mingling in the coffee shop looked over, though she didn’t notice. Instead, she just stared at Anya and waited to find the proper words. They’d never come though. She knew it. Her brain was too frazzled.

“Just be calm. Sit up straight. Fix your hair. Be charming,” her sister insisted.

“Anya, I can’t possibly--”

The words stalled as she trailed off slowly when she saw a beautiful girl appear in her coffee shop. But as much as she was distracted, she found her senses again and shook away the thought before giving her sister another glare.

“I’m not doing this,” she hissed, ignoring Anya’s self-satisfied grin.

“Yes you are. You need this.”

“You’re not pimping me out to a strang--”

“Yes I am.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Too late.”

“Am I interrupting?” the girl in question appeared, all too close for Lexa’s comfort.

“No!” Anya said, much too loudly. “No, no, not at all.” With a pointed look, she found her smile to put the stranger at ease. “Clarke, I’d like you to meet my sister, Lexa.”

“Hi,” the blonde smiled

Lexa gaped for a second, pursing her lips shut as she gulped. It was more of a problem than she’d expected. How a girl like that answered a stupid email, as lost on Lexa. But her sister nudged her shoulder and she came back around.

“Hello,” she managed stiffly, earning another nudge. “I-- Um. Could I get you a coffee?”

“Sit, sit,” Anya interrupted. “I’ll go get them for you both. Take your time. Get to know each other. Work it out. I know where everything is. Lexa owns this place. Pretty good coffee. What can I get you, Clarke?”

“What do you recommend?” she asked, turning to the owner with a natural smile on her face. Lexa could make out the hint of a dimple on the blonde’s cheek and that was trouble.

“Matcha cappuccino,” Lexa decided. “We just got some new leaves in from one of my friends in Kyoto.”

“Two of those, coming right up,” her sister clapped her hands. “You two sit and get acquainted.”

In a second, she was gone, weaving through the tables toward the counter, leaving the two strangers standing there, awkwardly looking back and forth at each other until Lexa held out her hand and motioned for Clarke to take the chair her sister already offered. Awkwardly, she gave a weary smile and tried to figure out where to start.

From the get go, Lexa could see that Clarke was essentially the opposite of her ex. Where Costia was tall and slender, Clarke was shorter and curvy. Where there was dark, curly hair, no was blonde waves. Gone were brown eyes and in their place was blue ones; bluer than any blue had a right to be. And the smile. Clarke had a constant smile, always right there and eager and warm.

Lexa blushed when she realized she’d met Clarke’s eyes again after staring at her lips, her cheeks growing pink with the blush of being found out.

“I’m really sorry my sister’s pulling you into this mess,” Lexa finally began, all the words bubbling up from her chest and spilling out of her mouth. “I’m severely embarrassed that it got forwarded. It was just a joke, and I don’t even want to go, but I also don’t think it’s fair to ask someone to preten--”

“Easy there, tiger,” Clarke chuckled as Lexa spun out. “No one dragged me into it. I volunteered.”

“But… why?”

“I’d had a few glasses of wine when I responded, to be honest,” she shrugged. “And then Anya seemed so grateful and relieved. I’m also kind of excited for an adventure. If I wrote a bucket list, I’d like to think crashing an ex’s wedding just to spite them would be on it.”

“Let me just get this straight. You’d willingly go and pretend to be my girlfriend to make my ex mad, just for fun?”

“Makes me sound a bit psychotic when you put it like that,” she frowned before perking back up. “But yeah. Why not? Should be some good karma in there somewhere.”

Lexa stared at the stranger, torn between amazement at the good intentions on display and the absolute absurdity of it all. She couldn’t just go with someone she just met to Costia’s fancy, Napa wedding. That would be bad. And wrong. Wrong and bad. That would be crazy. And yet, it was suddenly an option.

“You’re really sure about this, aren’t you?” Lexa finally asked.

“I’m a fairly good fake date. If you’d like references, you can ask my high school boyfriend. I was his beard for two years for family functions.”  

“Ah, so you’re a professional fake girlfriend?”

“I think that’s an escort-in-training, to be precise,” Clarke decided before seeing Lexa’s face fall slightly. “I’m kidding, obviously. That was a joke.”

“Thank goodness.”

Before either could say anything else, two cups appeared with frothy green and white foam were slid on the table, right on top of Lexa’s work and papers and notebook. She looked between the two of them and smiled expectantly.

“You two seem like you’re talking. Going well?” Anya hoped.

The hope in her tone was evident from the get go, and Lexa didn't really know what to say, so she just shrugged and looked at Clarke who did much the same thing.

“It’s alright,” Lexa finally tried, earning a nod from the blonde across the table.

“Good, good,” she smiled. “I’m just going to head back to work and let you two crazy kids iron out the details. I’m sure this is going to be great.”

Once more, Anya gave her sister a pointed look and communicated a few things to her through her face before giving Clarke a smile, resuming the happy front. To her credit, Lexa didn’t completely die of embarrassment just yet.

“So, you run this place?” Clarke asked, blowing on her drink before taking a sip.

“Own it.”

“Wow. No wonder you look so stressed. I can’t imagine the pressure.”

“I get by alright.”

For a moment, she didn’t have much else to say, but Lexa felt like she should. There was this weird feeling of wanting to say things to put the girl across her at ease, and she really wasn’t sure how.

“This is good.”

“Thank you,” Lexa smiled weakly as she quickly processed the information that came from the amiable stranger. “So you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

From across the table, Clarke carefully put down the mug of delicious coffee with care and from beneath her lashes, in an absolutely stunning kind of look that was enough to make Lexa’s mouth go instantly dry, she met her eyes and she let her lip quirk up on the corner slowly and just enough.

“Lexa, there are moments when you just have to be someone’s fake girlfriend. It’s a service to the world.”

“To the world, huh?”

“I had a pretty gnarly break up a few months ago. My friends say I need to get out. This seems like a low-pressure introduction, and for some reason, hiding behind an act of charity makes it easier for me to put myself out there.”

With a sigh and another sip of her cup, Lexa looked around the coffee shop and mulled. She was someone who mulled. She took time to decide things. Never one to be rash or impetuous, unless apparently a lot of wine was involved, Lexa tried to turn it around from all sides.

Clarke just sipped and smiled, careful to wipe the foam that got caught on her lips.

“We don’t have to touch or be super personal. I won’t ask you do to something you aren’t comfortable with. This is strictly pretend, or even it’s like friends, hanging out.”

“Well, you’re a sweet fake girlfriend,” Clarke beamed.

“I’m not doing this to get my ex back or to sleep with you or anything like that. Anya thinks that showing up with a beautiful girl would just be a nice way to turn the page.”

“I kind of agree. Your sister wants you to show your ex that you’ve moved on and she missed out. I think that’s fair.”

“I’m over her. I am. I think that’s why this feels weird.”

“You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard when you’re actually okay,” Clarke nodded, understanding perfectly. “But you also are still kind of hurt and don’t want to go alone because that would seem weird.”

“Super weird, right?”

Clarke just chuckled and nodded.

“It’s kind of weird being this honest with a complete stranger.”

“Yeah, or with anyone,” Lexa mumbled slightly to herself.

“If you want, you can think it over. You don’t have to decide. I think it’s just nice to know that you have the option to have someone to hang out with and make it less weird at your ex’s wedding.”

The nice girl nodded politely and finished her coffee. There was a kind of pink in her cheeks that made her eyes seem clearer.

“You’re really serious?”

“I am,” Clarke nodded. “You seem relatively normal minus this whole thing.”

In a move, Clarke reached across the table and picked up a pen before snagging a napkin. She jotted down her number and slid it across the table.

“I still can’t believe you’re serious,” Lexa shook her head despite seeing the number.

“Me neither. Just let me know. I should head back to work,” she offered, standing up from the table finally. “It was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you.”

Lexa stood as well, though the moment she did, she regret it and was unsure why. Instead, she just remained and somehow stuck her hand out to shake as if it were an interview. Nice enough, Clarke smiled and shook her hand before heading back toward the entrance and tossing a wave over her shoulder.

It wasn’t until Clarke was gone that Lexa sat back down and picked up the napkin tenderly. She smiled slightly at the whirlwind that just happened. She wasn’t ever that honest, and she was never that vulnerable, but two minutes with a pretty girl and she was confessing it all.

“Where did she go? What did you do?” Anya worried, sitting quickly.

“I didn’t do anything. I can’t believe you did this though. She was nice and seemed normal and you--”

“I found you a wedding date, if you didn’t scare her off.”

“I have to think about it.”

“What is there to think about? I hand-delivered a hot blonde who is just weird enough to accept your drunken offer for a date to your ex’s wedding.”

“I am still not sure I’m going,” Lexa shook her head.

Carefully, she folded the napkin and slid it in the pocket of her shirt.

Her sister  rolled her eyes and groaned.

“You’re impossible.”

For the entirety of the evening, well after the coffee shop was closed and Lexa was back in her own place, the weight of the napkin tucked into her shirt pocket weighed heavily upon her chest. She refused to look at it to confirm the numbers and the slopes and curves of Clarke’s name just above it.

But like a little thought worm that burrowed deep into her brain, she couldn’t reach it to evict it. The notion existed within her and she couldn’t escape it.

Once again, Lexa opened up her ex’s website and perused the pictures. There was a distinct lack of connection there anymore, and yet the book wasn’t shut. Clarke was right-- Lexa needed to go there and make sure. She had to feel the disconnect in person. She had to free herself of this nagging need to feel something. And Clarke had the qualifications for it. She was pretty and funny and sympathetic to a weirdo’s weird request.

After another lap of pacing through her house, Lexa stood still as a statue in her living room before tugging the napkin out and dialing the number.

“Hello?” Clarke greeted on the sixth right, right before Lexa was prepared to chalk it up to a loss.

“Clarke? It’s Lexa. Lexa Woods. Anya’s sister. We met earlier at my coffee shop. About the, er-- the um-- wedding?”

It all came out so quick that her brain was even catching up quick enough to be embarrassed for the incoherence.

“Ah, yes. I remember.”

There was some amusement in her voice and that did not make it any easier.

“Would you go with me to my ex’s wedding?” Lexa blurted. “I think my sister might be right.”

“Don’t tell her that.”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“So you’re asking for a smokeshow and arm candy to show off and help with closure?”

“Yeah, but I’m kind of okay with you hanging out with me. You have a pretty good grip on what I’m feeling.”

“I would love to be your fake girlfriend, but I have one condition.”

“Oh God,” Lexa goraned, flopping down on her couch as the embarrassment caught up with her and she knew enough to be nervous.

“I get to make up our origin story.”

“Sold!” she barked. “I don’t want to think about anything.”

“Perfect. Should we go over the details?”

“I’ll email you the reservations, and of course I’ll book your plane ticket.”

“How chivalrous of you, darling,” Clarke teased.

There was a moment of quiet before Lexa took a deep breath.

“Thank you for doing this. It means a lot to me, a complete stranger.”

“I get a paid-for vacation and I love dancing at weddings. This works out for both of us.”

“Whatever you say, Clarke.”

NEXT